Dare to Love
by Bohemian Anne
Summary: Jack and Rose meet as teenagers in 1961 and go through the tumultuous years of the 1960's and 1970's together.
1. Prologue: The Two Toms

**Prologue**

_November 5, 1945  
San Diego, California_

"Good luck, Dawson." Tom Bukater stepped back, watching Tom Dawson, his closest companion during the last three and a half years, walk towards the train that would take him back to Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin.

The war was over. It had been almost four years since the United States had entered World War II after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, but the war had finally ended. The Japanese had surrendered two months earlier, and the men who had fought the war were slowly but surely being sent home.

Tom Bukater had joined the Army the day after the attack on Pearl Harbor. He could have avoided it—he was a wealthy man, one of the scions of Philadelphia society, and he was the partial owner of several steel mills throughout Pennsylvania that were even then being converted to war production. Working in one of these defense plants would have exempted him from the military, but he had felt he had a duty to help defend his country, and so, with his wife, Ruth, encouraging him and assuring him that she and their infant son, Tom, Jr., would be fine, he had joined the Army on December 8, 1941.

He had soon been channeled into the Army Air Force, his contacts with important military and political figures and his already-existing experience as a pilot ensuring that he would be placed where he wanted to serve. At twenty-six, he had already had a pilot's license and owned a small airplane—though he freely admitted that after one ride, Ruth had refused to ever fly with him again and had prayed for his safety every time he took the plane out.

Tom Dawson had been eighteen when the United States entered World War II. He had graduated from high school six months earlier and had been working for the Chippewa Springs bottling company, trying to earn enough to marry and make a home with his high school sweetheart, Katherine Adams, after she graduated from high school in June. The Depression was only beginning to loosen its grip on the American economy, and he was grateful for what he had, but still feared that it wouldn't be enough.

Dawson hadn't wanted to join the military, but after the United States had entered the war, he had known that soon enough he would be drafted and sent to whichever branch of the military the draft board saw fit to send him to. He would have no choice in the matter. If, however, he signed up on his own, he would be able to choose the branch of the military he joined, thus maintaining some control over his life. He had chosen the Army, and had requested specifically that he be placed in the AAF. He hadn't held much hope of being allowed to join the AAF, but, much to his surprise, his scores on the various tests had shown that he was suitable for it, in spite of having no flight experience whatsoever.

The two men, Tom Bukater and Tom Dawson, had met in the Marshall Islands in February of 1942 after being assigned to fly missions together. Although Tom was not an uncommon name, some members of their regiment had found it amusing that two men with the same first name had been assigned to fly together. Soon, it had become a nickname of sorts—instead of their commanding officers and fellow soldiers referring to them as 'Tom', or as 'Bukater' or 'Dawson', they had been called 'the two Toms' and were often regarded as a single person.

In spite of, or perhaps because of, the teasing, the two men had soon formed a strong bond. They had worked well together while flying missions, whether in combat or for other purposes, and had demonstrated a willingness to take risks to keep one another alive. During the times when there was no fighting or work to be done, they had often shared the letters sent to them from their families and friends at home, and had often talked about their very different lives and backgrounds.

Dawson had sometimes envied Bukater, envied the way he came from a background where there was plenty of money and no fears over whether he would be able to find work and earn enough to keep food on the table, envied the fact that he was already married and had a family started. In spite of the fact that Katherine always assured him in her letters that she was waiting for him, he knew that she was one of the prettiest girls in town—and one of the smartest—and she could have any man she wanted. The longer he was away, the more worried he became that she would change her mind.

Bukater, for his part, had tried to reassure Dawson that his girl would be there when he got back, and had pointed out that many a married man was going to come home to find that his wife had found someone else, or had decided that she valued her independence over a husband she hadn't seen in years. He was reasonably sure that his wife wouldn't be one of them—his mother-in-law, Sarah Wolper-DeWitt, had often bragged that there had never been a divorce in the DeWitt family, and he knew that Ruth didn't plan to be the one to break that tradition.

He had confessed to Dawson that sometimes he envied him the simplicity of his life, of having only his family and himself to worry about, rather than worrying about half a dozen businesses and what effect the next shift in politics would have on his family's fortunes. Dawson had countered that at least he had some say in what would happen in the world, that he wasn't at the mercy of whatever changes came with no say in the matter, not even a vote until he reached the age of twenty-one.

After a while, both had realized that they would never quite understand the life of the other without experiencing it, but they did understand the life they were leading while the war was on, and it was that experience that formed the strong bond that differences in class and background couldn't breach.

Now the war was over, and they—along with millions of others—were heading for home and whatever awaited them there.

Bukater was turning away when he heard Dawson call to him.

"Hey, Bukater!"

He turned, heading in the direction of Dawson's train. "Yeah?"

"Don't forget to write!"

"You know I'll remember! Are you going to remember, or are you going to settle down with that pretty girl of yours and forget all about your old friends?"

"You know I'm not gonna forget. Who could, after all we went through?"

"Ah, but you'll settle back into life here, and start a family—and things like the war won't be so important anymore."

"I won't forget." Dawson's jaw was set stubbornly, much as Bukater had seen it many times during battle—he had no intention of forgetting his experiences in the war or the friendships formed there. His face softened after a moment into a slight grin. "You might forget, though, when you get home and see your wife and your little boy and start commanding all your businesses again."

"One of these years, after we're settled back in, we'll have to bring our families to meet each other—I'll bring mine to Chippewa Falls, or you can come out to Philadelphia. Or we can meet somewhere in the middle." The train's whistle blew, bringing them out of their conversation. Dawson hurried to climb aboard. "You know, if you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask," Bukater told him as he climbed the steps into the train.

"Same here…though I don't see you ever needing anything."

"Hey, you never know, right? As you've said, you never know what hand life's going to deal you next."

"Right." The train was beginning to move, so Dawson hurried inside and rushed to a seat, lowering the window and waving. "See you…sometime!"

Bukater hurried out of the way of the gravel flying up from under the train's wheels. "Definitely!" He waved, watching as the train gained speed and moved out of sight, before turning and heading towards the train that would take him back to Philadelphia.


	2. The Orphan 1

**Chapter One**

_November 4, 1961  
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

Tom Bukater glanced at the boy sitting beside him as he pulled up to a red light. The boy, fifteen-year-old Jack Dawson, avoided his gaze, staring silently at the street ahead of them.

Tom sighed inwardly, wondering what he was going to do with the boy now in his care and how he was going to explain to his wife and children that the boy was now a member of their family.

It had been sixteen years since Tom Bukater and Tom Dawson had seen each other. At first, they had written regularly, but just as Bukater had predicted, they soon became caught up in their normal lives, in their growing families and their careers, and the letters had become fewer and farther between. They had still managed to write a few times a year, and always exchanged cards and family photographs at Christmas, but the planned-for meeting had never taken place; their families had never met.

Then, on October twenty-ninth, Tom Bukater had gotten a call from the Dawsons' minister, Reverend Dunlap, in Chippewa Falls with some tragic news—Tom Dawson, his wife, Katherine, and their daughter, Betsy, had been killed in a car accident on Friday night while on the way to pick up the eldest child of the family, Jack, from a high school football game.

Tom had been shocked and saddened at the news, but he was even more shocked when Reverend Dunlap informed him that Dawson's will, to which he had been a witness, had named Tom Bukater as the legal guardian of Tom and Katherine Dawson's children in the event that anything happened to the parents.

Tom had immediately gotten a flight to Minneapolis, the city with a major airport closest to Chippewa Falls, telling his wife only that an old friend had passed away. After reaching Chippewa Falls late that evening, he had gone to the home of Reverend Dunlap, who had explained as much as he understood from the will and referred him to the lawyer who had drawn up the will two years before.

He had gone to see the lawyer the next morning, confirming that he had indeed been named legal guardian to the surviving Dawson child, Jack. He had argued at first, asking if the boy didn't have relatives who would be better suited to taking him in than a stranger. The lawyer had told him that there were relatives—a grandfather, an uncle, an aunt, and several cousins in northern Minnesota, plus a set of grandparents and several aunts, uncles, and cousins in Chippewa Falls and the surrounding towns.

When Tom had asked why none of them had been named the legal guardians of the Dawson children, he was informed that Tom Dawson had had a falling out with his relatives in Minnesota three years earlier, though the lawyer didn't know why none of the relatives in Wisconsin had been named in their stead. He had told Tom that he could contest the will, but the boy's fate would remain in limbo until the issue was decided. Tom knew a guilt trip when he heard one, but had agreed to take the boy. He didn't know why Dawson had named him the legal guardian, nor why he'd never told him about it, but the boy had been through enough already—he wouldn't make him suffer through a legal battle over who would take him in now that he was orphaned.

He had met Jack later that day—he was staying with an aunt and uncle in Chippewa Falls who, wanting him to maintain some semblance of normalcy, had sent him to school that day and had been infuriated when he had run away from school and, in spite of the late October chill, had spent the day hiding out near Lake Wissota.

Jack's relatives had been surprised when Tom Bukater had shown up at their door, though they had been informed that Dawson had named an old friend as Jack's guardian. Their fawning behavior had given him a good idea of why this particular couple hadn't been named guardians—Tom Dawson had never had much patience with such behavior, preferring openness and honesty to the sly looks of Paul and Nancy Adams, whose conduct had shown him right away that they were wondering what they could get out of him in spite of their attempts to hide it.

The boy, Jack, had acted much like his father—stoic, and with the same stubborn set to his jaw that Tom Dawson had so often displayed during the war. Bukater had introduced himself, explaining to Jack who he was, but the boy had barely responded to the introduction and greeting. It was only when Tom had told him that he was his guardian and Jack would be coming back to Philadelphia with him that he had gotten a real response.

"Why?" Jack had asked. "I don't even know you."

Tom hadn't had a real answer for him. He didn't know any better than Jack did why Tom Dawson had named him the guardian of his children, unless it was his long-ago promise to help if he ever needed it.

In the days that followed, Tom had tried to draw Jack out, but the boy had remained withdrawn, seldom speaking to him or anyone else. Even when Tom had asked about the art portfolio the boy carried with him everywhere, telling him that he had a daughter who was very interested in art, he hadn't gotten much response. Jack had allowed him to look through the folder, pointing out which pictures had been drawn by his mother, who had been a cartoonist during the war and still drew cartoons for some magazines after she married his father, but hadn't had much else to say. Tom had told him that the school he would be going to had an excellent art program, but even that hadn't sparked much interest.

The funeral had taken place on November first, a closed casket service due to the damage to the bodies from the accident. Jack had sat at the front of the church with his relatives, still stoic, only occasionally reaching to discreetly wipe his eyes, as though embarrassed by any open display of grief. Tom had sat farther back, distracted from the funeral by the chest pains that had plagued him during times of stress the past couple of years.

After the second part of the service, at the cemetery where the three Dawsons would be buried, Tom had followed the other mourners back to the Adams' home, where one after another of the boy's relatives had thanked him for his kindness in giving him a home and advised him about Jack's interests and what to do to bring him out of his grief, and once again Tom had wondered why his old friend had placed his son in his care when there were so many family members who obviously cared about him.

His question was at least partly answered when the lawyer arrived to read the will and came to the part about the care of the Dawson children.

"_If Katherine and I should die before our children, Jack and Betsy, reach the age of majority, I place their care in the hands of Mr. Tom Bukater of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, whom I entrusted many times with my own life and whom I trust above all others with the lives of my children_."

All eyes had turned to Tom then, wondering what his response would be, and Tom, who usually spoke smoothly and confidently in any situation, had stammered nervously, then accepted, realizing now why Dawson had placed the care of his children in his hands. It was a matter of trust. The bond they had formed during the war was still there, in spite of how little communication they had had over the past sixteen years. There was no way he could deny the trust his old friend had placed in him.

Two days later, Jack's belongings had been packed for shipment to Philadelphia, along with numerous family photos, the last cartoon his mother had been working on, and a few items from each of his lost family members—the medals his father had won in the war, a ring that had been passed down in his mother's family for generations and which would have been Betsy's if she had lived, and a book about the Indians that Betsy had read until it was nearly falling apart. Everything else, with the exception of a few items promised to various family members, would be sold and the money put in trust for Jack until he turned twenty-one or until he went to college—whichever came first.

Now, as the light turned green and the car moved through the intersection, Tom tried once again to talk to Jack.

"We're almost there," he told him. He gestured to an elegant old building set back behind a wide lawn, now winter-brown, and a dozen autumn-bare trees. "That's where you'll be going to school—Smithfield High School. It's a private school. My oldest daughter, Rose, also goes there."

Jack looked at the school and nodded slightly, but all he said was, "Okay."

Tom suppressed a sigh of annoyance. He knew the boy was grieving, but he wished he'd be a little more open. This was going to be his home, whether he liked it or not, and Philadelphia had plenty to offer—if a person was willing to accept it.

"We're almost home. There's several guestrooms—I'll have the housekeeper, Mrs. di Rossi, get one ready for you. Once the rest of your belongings arrive, you can arrange it to suit yourself."

"Sure."

Tom shook his head as they turned onto a wide residential street lined with mansions with sprawling grounds. He pulled into the long drive of one and drove into a large garage. After turning off the engine, he turned to Jack, who was looking around uncertainly.

"Here we are."

Jack quickly opened his door and got out, hurrying around to the trunk and waiting for Tom to unlock it so he could retrieve his suitcase. When Tom opened the trunk, Jack took his suitcase, then looked uncertainly at Tom's larger, more expensive suitcase.

"Do you want me to carry that?"

Tom shook his head, retrieving the suitcase himself. "I can do it." He turned to the boy. "You're not a servant here, Jack. You're going to be a member of the family."

Jack still looked at him uncertainly. Quickly, Tom closed the trunk and walked out of the garage, gesturing for Jack to follow. When they reached the front door of the house, he opened it, gesturing for Jack to go inside first.

Jack stopped inside the front door, looking around as though trying to take in everything at once. He had never been inside such a luxurious house before—the hallway at the entry was as wide as his bedroom in Chippewa Falls had been, decorated with antique furniture and fresh flowers in expensive vases. Fine works of art decorated the walls—some of which he recognized from the big art book his mother had kept on the coffee table in the living room at home. Beyond that, he could see part of a curving staircase, the banister freshly polished and gleaming.

Tom set down his suitcase and hung up his coat in the entry hall, nodding to Jack to do the same. He led him from the entry hall into a large living room, calling to his wife as he did so.

"Ruth? I'm home!"

A moment later, an elegantly dressed woman of middle years stepped out of another room that, from the glimpse Jack got of it, seemed to contain a long table, set as though for a party. "Tom! I was afraid you wouldn't get home in time for—" She stopped, seeing Jack. "Who's this?"

"Ruth, this is Jack Dawson, the son of my old friend Tom Dawson. I think you've seen a few pictures of him and his family."

She nodded, her brow furrowing in consternation. "Yes, but…Tom, why didn't you tell me you were bringing a guest?"

"Ruth…I wasn't completely honest with you, I'm afraid. Remember how I told you that an old friend had passed away?"

"Yes, but…"

"It was Tom Dawson who died, along with his wife and daughter. It was a car accident."

"But why did you bring his son here?"

"Tom specified in his will that if anything were to happen to him and his wife, I was to be his children's legal guardian. Jack is a part of our family now."

"What?"

Tom pulled Ruth aside, lowering his voice. "It was in the will, Ruth. It can't be changed."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know myself until I found out that Tom had died."

"Which was almost a week ago."

"Would you have been any happier if I had told you?"

"You could at least have given me a chance to get used to the idea!"

"Lower your voice, Ruth." Tom glanced at Jack, who seemed to be looking around the room, but the expression on his face told him that he'd heard every word.

"You didn't even ask me if I wanted to take him in."

"Like I said, Ruth, it was in the will. No one has a choice in the matter."

"And what are we going to do with him, Tom?"

"We have plenty of space, Ruth. Have Sophia get a guestroom ready."

"Sophia is busy, in case you didn't realize it. We have an important dinner party tonight."

Tom groaned; he'd forgotten all about it. "Well, just show him to a room and let him get comfortable. They're ready for guests anyway, and all he has right now is one suitcase. The rest of his belongings won't arrive until Monday."

"And what are we going to do about dinner tonight?"

"Just set an extra place at the children's table. He can eat with the girls. You know the caterers always make more than we need."

Jack listened to them argue about him. In spite of Tom's effort to lower his voice, he'd heard everything they'd said. His spirits sunk lower each moment. Here he was, in a strange place, in the care of a man who had only taken him in because his father's will had demanded it. His wife didn't seem to want him there, either. Jack turned and looked longingly at the front door, wondering if there was any way he could get back to Chippewa Falls. Even living with his Uncle Paul and Aunt Nancy would be preferable to this.

At that moment, two blonde girls with their hair in braids burst out of another room, giggling. They skidded to a stop, staring, when they saw their parents glaring at each other and Jack standing near the entry hall, looking like he would rather be anyplace else.

Jack stared back at them. The girls looked exactly alike, right down to their identical outfits and braids. He couldn't tell them apart.

One of the girls looked him over, then turned to her sister and giggled, whispering something in her ear. The other girl looked at him, then nodded in agreement, her laughter ringing across the room. Jack felt his face flame.

Tom and Ruth stopped arguing and turned to look at Jack and the twins. Ruth's eyes narrowed as she looked at her daughters.

"What were you two doing in there?" She looked from them to the room they'd exited, the library.

"We were just reading," one of them replied.

"Reading what?"

"Um…"

"I'd better not catch you reading those dirty books again."

"We weren't," they chorused innocently.

Ruth narrowed her eyes, about to say something more, but Tom came to the twins' rescue. "Lucy, Julie, this is Jack Dawson. He'll be staying with us now."

"Why?" one of them asked.

"He lost his family recently and his father, who was an old friend of mine from the war, wanted him to live with us."

"So, is he supposed to be our brother or something?"

"Something like that, yes." Tom turned to Jack. "Jack, this is Lucy…" He pointed to one girl. "…and Julie." He pointed to the other, glancing at their right hands as he did so. "They're both twelve years old."

Jack wondered how he could tell them apart. "Uh…hi."

The girl he'd identified as Lucy shook her head. "No, I'm Julie, and she's Lucy."

Tom looked at them sharply. "Girls, that's enough. Don't try to confuse him. Jack, the way you can tell them apart is that Julie has a mole on her right hand and Lucy doesn't. There's also Rose, and then there's my son, Tom, Jr., who is in the Navy and isn't here very often, though I'm sure you'll meet him eventually." He looked around. "Where's Rose?"

"She's upstairs," Lucy volunteered. "She's working on a new painting."

"I'll get her," Ruth said, heading for the stairs. "Rose!" When there was no response, she called again, louder. "Rose!"

Ruth marched up the stairs, heading for her eldest daughter's bedroom. As she approached it, she could hear the sound of the record player.

"Rosalind Sarah DeWitt-Bukater!" She threw open the door.

Startled, the girl turned to look at her mother. "What?"

"Did you not hear me calling you?"

"No."

Ruth strode across the room to the record player, lifting the needle from the record. Joan Baez's voice came to an abrupt halt.

"Rose, you're going to hurt your ears by playing that so loud. Now, your father brought someone home and you need to come meet him."

"Another politician?" Rose complained.

"No. As you know, a friend of your father's passed away recently, and it seems that his will stipulated that his child be placed in your father's care. You have a new…brother."

Rose looked from her mother to the project she was working on. "I'll be down in a few minutes. I'm almost done with this part…"

"Now, Rose."

"But Mom, I've got the colors just right."

"Rosalind…"

Rose knew better than to argue when her mother called her by her full first name. "I'm coming. I'm coming." Looking longingly at her painting, she set the brush in a container of water to keep the paint from drying on it and turned to follow Ruth.

It wasn't until they got downstairs that Ruth noticed what Rose was wearing. She shook her head in embarrassment at her daughter's paint-spattered smock. "Rose…"

Rose saw what her mother was looking at. "You didn't give me a chance to take it off," she complained.

Jack turned to look at her, seeing her messy smock and realizing that this was the daughter Tom Bukater had talked about, the one with an interest in art.

Rose saw him and stopped, brushing a red curl out of her face and leaving a streak of blue paint in its place. "Oh. Um…"

Tom stepped in. "Rose, this is Jack Dawson. He'll be staying with us from now on. Jack, this is my oldest daughter, Rose. You'll be going to school with her." He looked at his daughter, then did a double-take. "Rose…"

The twins looked at her and started giggling. Rose just stared at them, confused. "What?"

Jack tapped his cheek, showing her what the problem was. Her hand flew to her face, coming back with a fresh blue streak.

"Oh…" She tried to wipe the paint away, but succeeded only in smearing it further. Looking from her mortified mother to her giggling sisters, she made one last swipe at her cheek, then smiled at Jack sheepishly. "Um…hi…"

In spite of himself, Jack couldn't help but smile a little. She was the most down-to-earth person he had met so far.


	3. The Orphan 2

**Chapter Two**

Jack followed Ruth up the stairs, his suitcase in his hand. She looked back once to be sure he was following, then started down a long hallway with doors on each side. She stopped between two doors, thinking, then opened the door on the left and escorted him inside.

"This was one of the guestrooms, but it will be your room from now on. Mrs. Di Rossi will help you set it up to your liking once your belongings arrive, but it should be adequate for now." She paused, glancing at the suitcase in his hand. "We're having a dinner party tonight with a number of important guests. Since you are now a member of this household, I expect you to attend. Do you have proper clothing?"

Jack wasn't sure what kind of clothes were considered proper for a dinner party for important people, but he answered, "I have a suit."

"May I see it?"

Jack set the suitcase on the bed and opened it. The suit was folded on top of the other clothes to keep it from getting too wrinkled. He unfolded it and showed it to her. "It's this."

Ruth frowned, looking at the simple brown suit and blue tie. It wasn't exactly appropriate attire for a formal dinner, even for a child, but she supposed it would have to do. There wasn't time to get anything else for him.

"Go ahead and get dressed," she told him. "The guests should be arriving by 7:30, and dinner will begin at eight o'clock. You'll be sitting at the children's table…just follow Rose and the twins."

She hurried out the door, closing it firmly behind her and leaving Jack staring after her. He walked around the room before he got dressed, opening doors and looking out the window at the expanse of autumn-brown lawn and leafless trees in the backyard. A trellis that was undoubtedly covered in vines during the summer months extended to just below his windowsill, the vines long since cut back. Briefly, he wondered if it would be strong enough to climb.

The room was as large as the living room at his old home in Chippewa Falls, with a dresser and a closet so big he wondered how anyone could have enough clothes to fill them, though he was sure his mother would have liked to have tried. He even had his own bathroom, with a combination bathtub/shower, fresh, soft towels, and enough fancy soaps and shampoos to keep a person clean for years, or so it seemed to him.

He perched on the edge of the bed for a moment, then sprang to his feet, going to the window and looking out before pacing back to his suitcase. It was nice enough, he supposed, but he still didn't feel comfortable there. The very opulence of the house made him feel out of place and left him longing for the simplicity of his old life in Wisconsin, though he had often longed to see more of the world when he was there.

A glance at the clock on the bedside table told him that it was past seven. He needed to hurry and get dressed, lest he be late and give the Bukaters more reason to wish he wasn't there.

Ten minutes later, he emerged from the room, dressed as neatly as he could be in the suit he had once worn to church and special occasions in Chippewa Falls. It was too small now—something he had been acutely aware of at his family's funeral earlier that week—but there was nothing he could do about it except try to not to bend his knees or elbows too much, to avoid putting too much strain on the fabric.

Jack looked around the empty hallway, wondering if he was supposed to go downstairs, or if he should wait and go down with the others—if they weren't already downstairs. He was about to go to the top of the stairs to take a look when one of the twins emerged from a room across the hall, wearing a pink satin dress and makeup that looked ridiculous on her.

Far from being embarrassed at his staring at her, she looked him over disdainfully and asked, "Why aren't you dressed right?"

Jack looked at her hands, trying to determine which twin it was, but she hid her hands behind her back and smirked at him.

The other twin emerged from the room next to her sister's, wearing an identical dress and slightly less heavy makeup. Jack got a look at her hands and then turned to glare at the girl who had spoken to him—Julie—with all the disdain a fifteen-year-old boy could muster.

At that moment, Ruth and Tom came out of a room down the hall, both dressed formally. Tom saw the three children staring each other down and sighed, going to see what the problem was.

Julie was quick to speak up. "Dad…he isn't dressed right."

"Neither are you, Julie," Ruth interjected. "Or you, Lucy," she added. "Go wash off that makeup."

"But Mom…"

"Go wash it off."

"But Rose gets to wear makeup."

"And when you're fifteen like Rose, you can wear it, too. Wash it off. Now."

The twins exchanged looks of disgust and marched back into their rooms. Jack looked at Ruth with new respect—his mother had had the same rule for Betsy, and Betsy, too, had complained and done everything she could to get around it. At least some things were familiar.

Ruth looked at Jack critically, wincing at the sight of the too-short pants and sleeves of his jacket. In spite of his best efforts, his knees and elbows were straining at the fabric, and the buttons of the jacket threatened to pop off if he breathed deeply.

Jack knew that it was too small, but he didn't have anything else to wear. His mother had been planning to take him and Betsy shopping for new clothes the previous Saturday—the day after the accident—though Jack had complained and thought of every excuse possible to get out of it. He had hated shopping for clothes with his mother and sister. They could spend hours poring over clothes, shoes, and fabric—though Betsy's idea of nice clothing was different from their mother's—while he hung as far back from them as he could, pretending he didn't know them. Still, he wished there had been time to get a new suit—he'd had a growth spurt over the summer and most of his clothes no longer fit quite right.

Ruth shook her head, considering. She thought about lending him something belonging to her son, Tom Jr., but realized that it would be even worse. Tom Jr. was taller than his father by two inches—and Jack was shorter than Tom Sr. by a good six inches. Anything he borrowed from either of them would be much too long and too big. He would just have to wear what he had on.

For a moment, she considered asking him to eat in the kitchen instead of attending the dinner, but she knew her husband would never allow it. In spite of his insistence that he had taken the boy in because the will had stipulated he do so, she knew there was more to it than that. If he hadn't wanted to take him in, he would have had his lawyers working on the case, looking for a way out of the duty he had been assigned. No, she knew that he had brought the boy home because he could never break a friend's trust or leave him out in the cold—and that extended to his orphaned son.

"It'll have to do," she told Jack, who was trying to suck his stomach in and make the suit appear a better fit. "We'll get you some new clothes soon…but that will have to do for tonight."

The door to the left of Jack's room opened and Rose emerged, clad in an elegant yellow dress. The streak of blue paint was gone from her face, though a slight redness showed where she had scrubbed at it. Ruth looked at her to be sure the paint was gone, then nodded approvingly.

Rose looked at Jack and smiled slightly, her hand moving self-consciously to the spot where the paint had been. She knew it was gone, but she still felt slightly embarrassed at meeting him that way.

"You look nice," he assured her, earning a sharp look from Ruth and a giggle from Lucy, who had emerged from her room with her face clean.

Ruth glanced at her younger daughter, then said, "Go see what's taking Julie so long."

Lucy re-emerged from Julie's room a moment later, her twin in tow. Ruth looked at Julie, finally nodding in approval.

"Let's go downstairs. The guests should begin arriving momentarily."

When they reached the living room where Jack had first been introduced to the members of the family, Jack stood uncomfortably, not sure what he was supposed to do. The twins sat down on a loveseat and giggled when he moved uncertainly towards them, not knowing what else to do.

Rose finally came to his rescue just as the doorbell rang to announce the arrival of the first guests.

"This is really Mom and Dad's party. There probably won't be anyone our age. We should just stand back and say polite things if anyone speaks to us."

Jack watched, wide-eyed, as a parade of elegantly dressed men and women came through the door. He knew they were supposed to be important people, but he had no idea who most of them were. One man looked slightly familiar, as if he had seen him somewhere—maybe on television—but most were completely unfamiliar.

Rose pointed some of them out to him. Gesturing to the man who looked vaguely familiar, she whispered, "That's Robert McNamara. He's the Secretary of Defense for this country."

Jack nodded, realizing now that he had indeed seen the man before. "I think I've seen him on TV."

"Me, too," Rose said, "but now you get to see him in person. My brother decided to join the Navy after talking to him—it broke Mom and Dad's hearts. They wanted him to go to Harvard like Dad did, but he said his country needed him more than the business world did."

Jack shook his head. "I'm never joining the military. I'm going to go to college."

Rose nodded. "So am I. I want to be an artist." She turned as another couple walked into the room, leaning towards Jack and whispering, "There's Richardson Dilworth, the mayor of Philadelphia." She lowered her voice further. "Rumor has it he's going to run for governor."

Jack looked at him, not particularly impressed. "I met the mayor of Chippewa Falls several times…my dad was on the city council for a few years. He was in the supper club my parents belonged to."

Rose had never heard of Chippewa Falls before. "Where's that?"

"Where's what?"

"Chippewa Falls."

"It's in Wisconsin."

"Oh." Rose was silent for a moment. "I've never heard of it."

"It's where I'm from."

"I guessed that." She looked around, nodding to someone else and leaning over to Jack to whisper, "That's Richard Schweiker. He just got elected to Congress."

Jack nodded, trying not to appear impressed by the people Rose was pointing out. He had never met a congressman before, nor anyone else as high up in government as those he was meeting tonight.

The guests mingled, chatting with their hosts and occasionally paying attention to the kids. Jack saw Tom Bukater gesture to him a number of times and suspected he was telling his guests about the boy who had suddenly been added to his family. A few guests nodded to him, some looking him over critically, and one woman said to her husband, within earshot of Jack and Rose, "How very charitable of Tom to take that boy in. He certainly looks in need of help, doesn't he?"

Rose turned and looked at Jack upon hearing this. His jaw was set stubbornly and he was glaring at the woman, wishing he had the courage to tell her how rude he thought she was.

"Don't listen to her," Rose whispered. "She's well-known for saying the wrong thing…she's only on the guest list because her husband is one of Dad's business partners. Mom avoids her whenever possible."

Jack didn't look convinced, but just then a woman in an apron emerged from the dining room and quietly made her way to Ruth. She whispered something to her, then retreated back into the dining room.

Ruth clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. "Sophia has just informed me that dinner is ready. If you will follow me…"

Jack trailed after Rose as she and her sisters hurried into the dining room. They went to a small table set up some distance from the long main table.

"This is the children's table," Rose informed him. "This is where we'll be sitting."

Jack sat down awkwardly, the tight suit making it difficult to sit comfortably. When he was finally seated, he looked at his place setting, eyes widening in dismay at the amount of silverware.

"Are all these for me?" he asked Rose.

The twins giggled, earning a look of disdain from Rose. "You don't always use the right silverware," she told her sisters loftily. "Don't laugh at him." She turned to Jack. "Each piece of silverware is for a different course, more or less," she explained. "There's the soup spoon, and the salad fork, and…"

Jack looked at the silverware, trying to keep up with what Rose was saying. Rose saw his confusion and whispered, "Just start from the outside and work your way in." She took her napkin from the table and unfolded it on her lap. Jack followed suit, realizing that he should have known that much. His mother had always insisted on proper table manners, including putting napkins on the lap. He recognized some of the silverware, too, from his parents' supper parties, but those had never been as elaborate as this, and he had rarely been allowed to attend those parties anyway, instead going to see friends or going into town to eat hamburgers and see a movie with his sister. His parents had considered those to be grown-up events, and had sent the kids to places where they could have fun and not be disruptive.

Several uniformed women came in carrying dishes and trays and began serving the guests. Jack looked up as the woman whom he had seen speaking to Mrs. DeWitt-Bukater earlier came to their table and began serving them, setting bowls of some kind of thin soup in front of them.

"Thank you, Mrs. Di Rossi," Rose told her, waiting until the others were served before picking up her soup spoon. She saw her mother watching from the adults' table and gave her sisters a look, reminding them to remember their manners before their mother got angry.

The twins chorused a thank you, and Jack mumbled the same to the woman, who looked at him curiously before returning to the kitchen.

"That's Mrs. di Rossi," Rose told him. "She's the housekeeper and the main servant here. There's a few others who come two or three times a week, but she's the one in charge of them. She's in charge of the caterers, too, for things like this. You'll like her. She's nice. She's got a son, Fabrizio, who works as a gardener here—he's in high school, too, but he doesn't go to our school. You'll probably meet him soon—he also repairs things, and he's still getting the yard ready for winter."

Jack just nodded, taking a spoonful of soup—he hadn't realized how hungry he was. The soup was good, and he began to hope that, in spite of how awkward he felt, he would at least be able to enjoy the food.

The next course, however, brought him up short. He stared at the plate Mrs. Di Rossi had set before him, his appetite disappearing as he realized that this particular delicacy was a garden pest his mother had once paid him and his sister a penny apiece to collect and smash—escargot, the garden snail.

He looked up at the other diners, seeing that the adults were eating the delicacy with a special fork and apparently enjoying it—though if he had looked more closely, he would have observed that a few of them gulped the escargot down very quickly and took large swallows of wine to wash the taste out of their mouths.

"Ew!"

Jack looked up to see Lucy making a face at Julie, who had pulled a snail from its shell and was eating it with a great show of enjoyment—though he soon suspected that Julie didn't enjoy it as much as she appeared to when Lucy tried to push her portion of escargot onto her sister's plate and immediately had it returned.

"Girls!" Ruth admonished from the adults' table before the twins could begin to squabble.

Jack looked back at the snails, reaching the fork hesitantly towards them, then stopping. There was no way he could bring himself to eat the slimy things—the very thought made him feel sick.

Rose nudged him, keeping an eye out for her mother. "Take them out of the shells and wrap them in your napkin. You can feed them to the dog, Nettie, later. She'll eat anything."

Jack followed her example, removing the snails from their shells and discreetly dropping them into his napkin. Lucy did the same—of the DeWitt-Bukater girls, only Julie could stand escargot, and even she was only willing to eat it in small quantities.

Jack had almost finished hiding the snails when Ruth looked over and caught him. "Jack Dawson!" she shouted, startling him so much he almost dropped the napkin.

He whirled around to look at her, seeing her coming toward him angrily. She snatched the napkin from his hand and shook the snails from it, dropping them on the plate and tossing the napkin on the table.

The room had gone silent. Jack looked around, his face flaming, and saw that Rose and Lucy were looking at the table, avoiding his eyes and their mother's angry gaze.

"I…um…they're snails," he said, wondering if she would force him to eat the things.

Someone at the adults' table laughed, quickly trying to cover it with a cough, but Ruth had heard and had grown even more angry.

"They're escargot," she corrected, "and they're a fine delicacy. One would think your parents would have taught you better manners than to throw away good food, but I suppose not."

Jack opened his mouth to correct her assumption about his parents and to point out that two of her daughters were doing to same thing, then closed it, thinking better of it. At the moment, he wasn't sure he could discuss his parents in front of a roomful of strangers without breaking down, and he wouldn't tattle on the two girls to their mother—he didn't want them getting the same treatment.

"Um…I'm sorry…" he finally managed to get out, his voice cracking. He half-expected to hear giggles from the twins, but they continued to stare silently at the table.

Ruth shook her head. "You should have thought of that before you tried to throw these away. Since you obviously aren't hungry, you can go to your room. I hope you'll be more respectful next time."

Jack glanced at Tom Bukater, half-hoping that he would say something in his defense, but quickly decided that he would get no help from him. He wasn't going to publicly confront his wife over her treatment of the boy.

As Ruth stared down at him angrily, Jack pushed back his chair and stood, trying to look dignified in spite of his red face and the people staring at him. Straightening his back, he walked stiffly from the room and headed for the stairs.


	4. The Orphan 3

**Chapter Three**

Hours later, after the party had ended and the guests had departed, Rose slipped from her room wrapped in a warm pink robe. She glanced up and down the hall to be sure that neither her sisters nor her parents were about, then walked quietly down the stairs and headed for the kitchen.

As always happened after one of these parties, there were large amounts of leftovers. Most of it would be thrown out, except for what the servants wanted—the Bukaters seldom ate leftovers. Rose had often thought it was a shame to waste so much good food, especially with so many hungry people in the world, but she had no say in the matter.

Still, the amount of leftover food meant that she could take a tray to Jack without it being missed. She frowned, thinking about how her mother had yelled at him in front of all the guests. Some of them had been appalled at her rudeness, though they hadn't said so to her face—it wasn't polite to insult the hostess of a party one was attending. They had said it to each other later, though, as they were leaving—Rose had overheard several of them talking.

Her father hadn't been happy about it, either, though he had refused to compound Ruth's error by making a scene in front of their guests. After the guests had left, however, Tom and Ruth had argued loud and long over Ruth's treatment of the boy Tom had brought home.

Tom understood that Ruth was unhappy with suddenly being "mother" to a strange boy, but he didn't feel that her unhappiness excused such behavior—there was no reason, in his view, to humiliate the boy in front of people. At the very least, he felt she should have taken him aside and explained what he was doing wrong, not screamed at him for it in front a roomful of prominent politicians and businessmen. He was aware that many of their guests had regarded her behavior as unforgivably rude, something he was sure the gossips in their social circle would pick up on, and hoped she wouldn't take the inevitable backlash out on the boy.

Rose and her sisters had stood in the hallway, listening to their parents yell at each other downstairs, and whispered to each other, keeping an eye out in case their parents came upstairs and caught them eavesdropping. All three of them felt bad for Jack, though Rose and Lucy had to admit that they were glad it wasn't one of them their mother had caught—although she was usually more subtle with them, taking them aside when she thought they were being rude.

When Ruth and Tom had come upstairs, still angry with each other, Rose and the twins had quickly scattered to their rooms, though Rose had peeked out long enough to see her father come out of her parents' bedroom and disappear into one of the guestrooms, carrying his pajamas and rubbing his chest like it hurt.

Now, a half hour later, Rose tiptoed around the kitchen, loading a plate with leftover roast duck, mashed potatoes, and a large slice of chocolate cake. When the plate was full, she quietly carried it out of the kitchen, glancing around to make sure no one saw her.

If she was caught, she planned to tell whoever caught her that she was hungry and was getting a midnight snack, though there was far more food on the plate than she usually ate, and if her mother heard the excuse, she would lecture Rose about eating too much and putting on weight.

It was a lot of food, but Rose had observed more than once that boys her age could eat a disgusting amount of food and still be hungry—her boyfriend, Cal, could eat three burgers at once, then ask Rose if she was going to finish her food.

Fortunately, no one was around when Rose reached the top of the stairs. She walked quietly to Jack's room and knocked softly on the door, wondering if he was asleep. When there was no answer, she slowly opened the door, finding an empty room and a still-made bed, a cheap suitcase lying open atop the bed. The bathroom door was open and the room was dark, but a cold draft came from the window. Rose moved to the window and looked outside, seeing no one and concluding that Jack had climbed down the trellis—a way in and out of the house that she had used herself on occasion, especially when she got home past her curfew and didn't want to get caught.

Still carrying the food, Rose went back down the stairs and quietly unlocked the back door, slipping out into the backyard. She looked around, not seeing any sign of Jack, and wondered if he'd run away. She quickly rejected the idea, since his suitcase was still in his room, and started down the brick pathway, trying to think of where he might be.

Thinking of where she and her siblings liked to go when they were upset, she headed towards a large oak tree near the back fence. The tree, with its thick foliage in summer and branches just the right size for sitting on, had been a refuge for all four DeWitt-Bukater kids when they were upset.

When she neared the tree, she knew that she'd been right. The tree was as appealing to the boy from Wisconsin as it was to them. She heard a muffled sob coming from a branch not far above her head and, after setting the plate on a nearby bench and kicking off her slippers, she began to climb, her bare feet aching with the cold.

Though she couldn't see him in the darkness, Rose had a fair idea of where Jack was, and when she reached the branch, she sat down on it and slid along it carefully until she reached him.

"Go away!" Jack's voice was choked with tears. After being sent away from the dinner party, he had paced his room for hours, still holding in the grief that wanted to burst forth for fear that someone would see him and laugh at him. Later, after hearing the muffled sounds of his new "parents" quarreling, followed by the slamming of doors, he had decided to see if the trellis was indeed strong enough to climb—anything to get out of the suffocating room. Once outside, he had prowled the backyard, hoping the dog Rose had mentioned wasn't around, and had finally found the oak tree, whose branches looked, in the faint starlight, to offer a good place to hide, a place where he could finally let loose with the grief he'd been holding inside for more than a week.

Now, someone had invaded his sanctuary. He tried to scoot away from them, but the branch creaked under their combined weight. He stopped, fearing that it would break. He wasn't sure who had climbed up beside him—it could be a crazed killer, for all he knew—but he didn't want to fall.

"Jack, it's me. Rose." She crossed her feet and tried to cover them with her nightgown.

Now he knew who was sitting beside him, but he still didn't want her there. He felt more sobs rising up inside and tried to suppress them, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of her by crying. "Please…just leave me alone."

Rose moved closer to him. She doubted he was crying over her mother's rudeness—she had overheard her father telling someone that Jack's entire family had been lost in a car accident recently; she guessed that was what he was so upset about.

Jack tried to stop crying, but the grief that he had been holding inside could no longer be suppressed—not just at the loss of his family, but also at being taken from everything he had ever known and being brought to a place where he didn't seem to be wanted. When he felt Rose put her arm around his shoulders, his tears began anew and he found himself leaning against her.

Rose was surprised when he leaned against her, but didn't pull away. She kept her arm around him, feeling his shoulders shake as he sobbed quietly. He didn't say much, only occasionally whispering someone's name—Mom, Dad, Betsy—his sister, Rose thought, or maybe a girlfriend he'd had to leave behind.

After a while, his sobs quieted and then stopped. He sat up, embarrassed at his display of emotion.

"Sorry," he whispered, wiping his eyes.

"It's okay," Rose assured him quietly. "This is where all of us kids go when we're upset."

Jack took a deep, shuddering breath, but didn't say anything. He sat quietly on the branch, his emotions spent, feeling somewhat comforted by Rose's presence. Lots of people had offered their condolences over the loss of his family, but Rose was the first one who seemed to sense that he just needed someone to be there.

Rose finally took her arm from around Jack's shoulder and reached to rub her feet, which were so cold they were almost numb. She teetered slightly, but managed to keep her balance, though the branch shook with her efforts to warm her feet.

"What's wrong?" Jack whispered as she gasped slightly and steadied herself.

"My feet are freezing," Rose whispered back. "Would you mind if we got down from here?"

"Sure." Jack had been planning to sit there for a while longer, but he was feeling the cold, too, although he'd had the good sense to wear shoes.

His stomach growled loudly as he followed Rose down the tree. He clapped a hand over it, embarrassed.

Rose smiled slightly. "I brought some food," she told him quietly.

"It's…uh…it's not more es—escart—snails, is it?" he asked. He was hungry, but there was no way he was eating slimy garden pests.

She laughed softly. "No," she told him. "It's roast duck, mashed potatoes, and chocolate cake. Do you like those?"

Jack nodded, then realized she couldn't see him. "Yeah," he responded. "We had those at home all the time…well, the mashed potatoes, anyway."

Rose led him to the bench where she had left the food, her hand brushing the potatoes as she felt for the plate. To her dismay, the food was even colder than when she'd taken it from the refrigerator.

"It's…um…it's kind of cold," she told him. "It's not frozen, though."

Jack shrugged. He was hungry enough that cold food didn't bother him. Besides, he knew from experience that cold leftover duck was good in sandwiches, and he had eaten half-frozen cake before, too…in his opinion, nothing could ruin cake.

Rose reached into a pocket of her robe, only then realizing that she had snatched a spoon instead of a fork. "Oops," she mumbled.

"What?"

"I accidentally brought you a spoon, not a fork."

"I can use it." He took the proffered utensil and sat down on the bench, spooning food into his mouth.

Rose sat down, too, pulling her slippers back on. "Jack?" she asked after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"Earlier, I heard Dad telling one of the guests that you'd lost your family in a car accident." She paused, trying to think of how to ask about it. "What happened?"

Jack was silent for a moment, the spoon lying forgotten on the plate. "Um…well…the police think the car hit a patch of black ice, spun out of control, and hit a tree. It must have been going pretty fast…Betsy was thrown from the car—they found her lying about fifteen feet away. The policeman I talked to told me he thought Mom and Dad were probably killed instantly."

"What about you? Were you hurt?"

"I…uh…I wasn't in the car. I was at a football game at school. They were on their way to pick me up."

Rose gasped. "Oh, my…"

"When they didn't show up, I kept waiting, but people were leaving and the parking lot was getting empty. The principal finally asked me where my parents were, and when I said I didn't know—I was getting kind of worried by then, because they were never that late—he offered me a ride home. While he was driving me home, we stopped because the road was blocked off. There were police cars all around, and an ambulance—and then I saw the car, and I recognized it. I jumped out of the principal's car and took off running while he tried to catch me, and I saw them putting Betsy on a stretcher and loading her into the ambulance."

"Who's Betsy?"

"Betsy was my sister. She was thirteen. We fought a lot, but now that she's gone…I miss her." Jack's voice wavered slightly. He stuffed a bite of food into his mouth, chewing on it until he regained control. "They put Mom and Dad into the ambulance, too, but they weren't as gentle with them…later the policeman told me they were already dead. Mom's head was lying at a strange angle…even I could tell she was dead, but I wasn't sure about Dad, and Betsy was still breathing.

"The police stopped me from going to them, and the principal took me back to his car and drove me to the hospital after the ambulance left. The policeman talked to me there—Betsy died on the way to the hospital, and they had me identify her. They knew for sure who Mom and Dad were, because they had their driver's licenses…but to make things official, they had me tell them who Betsy was. That was when I found out that all three of them had died…I was the only one left.

"All I could think about was that while I was at the football game, standing near the cheerleaders and hoping one of them would notice me, my parents and sister were on their way to pick me up, slipping on the ice and hitting that tree—which was still standing after the accident, even though it has a big gash in the trunk now. While I was having fun, they were dying. Betsy loved going over to the high school—she never missed a chance to come along if Mom and Dad were picking me up—and now she'll never go there. She was in eighth grade…but she was really looking forward to high school."

Jack's voice cracked. Falling silent, he stuffed another bite of food into his mouth, trying to bring his emotions under control.

Rose scooted closer to him and gave him a hug. "Oh, Jack, how horrible! I don't know what I would do if I lost my parents, or my brother or my sisters. My brother is in the Navy, and I worry about him all the time…I'm always afraid there'll be a war and he'll get killed."

"I hope it never happens. I hope your whole family lives to be old."

"Me, too." Rose fell silent for a moment, thinking. "Dad says you'll be going to Smithfield High School with me."

"Yeah…he pointed it out to me on the way here."

"What grade are you in?"

"Tenth."

"So am I." Rose squinted her eyes, peering at him in the darkness. "How old are you?"

"I'm fifteen. My birthday's in October."

"I'm fifteen, too, but my birthday's in August." Rose smiled. "I guess I've got a little brother now."

Jack shrugged. "I guess."

"If you like, I can show you around school on Monday, make it easier to find things. It's not a very big school, but still…I can introduce you to some of the kids, too. Most of my friends go there, and so does my boyfriend, Cal…but he's a senior, so you probably won't have very many classes with him."

Jack glanced at her, barely able to see her in the shadows. "Your dad said there was a good art program at your school…"

"There is. There's classes and an art club, and the teacher submits really good work to art fairs and even galleries. Are you interested in art?"

"I love art. My mother was a cartoonist, and I've been drawing since…I can't remember when."

"Did you bring any drawings with you when you came here?"

"I brought my portfolio. It has my best work, plus some of my mother's cartoons."

"Maybe you can show it to me tomorrow. I'm an artist, too…or I'm trying to be. I like to paint…you probably already guessed that."

"You did have paint on your face when I met you."

"Yeah, well…I was painting when Mom had me come meet you."

"What do you paint?"

"I like to paint pictures of things going on in the world. I'll get a photo from a magazine and paint a picture…or I'll paint a picture of something I've seen. I was working on a painting of President Kennedy this afternoon…we got to go to his inauguration a few months ago, and we even got to shake his hand. Dad got so mad at the twins…they switched names, though I don't think the President noticed. Dad was the only one who'd ever met him before."

"They did the same thing to me today."

Rose rolled her eyes. "They think they're so funny…even when they get in trouble, they think they're funny."

Jack finished his food and set the spoon on the plate. He felt Rose shivering next to him and stood up, offering her his hand to help her up.

"I think we should go in before you freeze," he told her.

Not seeing his hand, Rose got to her feet on her own. "You're probably right. It's cold out tonight."

"Not as cold as Chippewa Falls, but…yeah. It is kind of chilly."

Jack started to walk back towards the trellis, but Rose stopped him. "The back door is unlocked. That's how I got out here."

Jack followed her inside, waiting as she locked up again. She took the plate from him and went into the kitchen, leaving it there before returning to him.

As they started up the stairs, Rose whispered, "Jack…I know it's hard, but it'll be okay. You'll get used to us. The twins can be obnoxious, but they just think they're funny, and I heard Dad tell Mom that he wants you here. Mom…well…she'll get used to you. I'm sure of it."

Jack wasn't so sure about that, but he didn't say so. He knew that Rose, at least, was friendly—and he was glad to have at least one friendly face in this new place.

"Thanks, Rose," he whispered as they stopped outside her bedroom door.

"You're welcome," she responded, giving him a quick hug. She yawned, reaching for the doorknob. "Good night."

"'Night," he whispered as she went inside and shut the door. He stood for a moment, thinking, before he turned and went inside his own room.


	5. The Orphan 4

**Chapter Four**

_November 5, 1961_

Rose came into the dining room carrying a stack of canvases, the pile so high she could barely see over it. Jack followed close behind her, his portfolio in his hand.

"We can look at our art in here," Rose told him. "The table is big enough that we can spread out."

Jack nodded as he set his portfolio on the table and helped Rose set down her heavy pile of canvases. He raised an eyebrow at the top painting, a rather unflattering depiction of Richard Nixon, the Republican presidential candidate in the last election.

Rose saw the painting he was looking at and smiled. "I painted that last year. I entered it into a contest at school, but Mrs. Widmark gave it back and told me I should have more respect."

"I…uh…I take it you don't like him much?"

Rose shook her head. "No. I don't think he's trustworthy. Dad doesn't think much of him, either—a paranoid son of a bitch was what he called him, before Mom reminded him not to use such language in front me and the twins. I painted it after that and showed it to Dad. He thought it was funny."

Jack looked at the painting more closely. Rose had portrayed Nixon as having an unusually long nose, almost Pinocchio-like. His receding hairline was curved in such a way that it looked almost like horns, and his eyes looked like they were trying to avoid something. The painting could have been the work of an unskilled amateur, but Jack suspected Rose had done it on purpose.

"If he'd won, I would have sent it to him," Rose told him. "But he didn't, so I kept it."

Jack opened his portfolio and leafed through the contents, finally pulling out a political cartoon his mother had drawn. He showed it to Rose.

"My mother drew this. She didn't much care for him, either. Unfortunately, she couldn't get this one published, so she let me have it."

Rose laughed when she looked at it. "Your mother was a smart woman. My mother thinks he should have won. She still went to Kennedy's inauguration, though."

Jack set the painting of Nixon aside and looked at the next canvas. It was of a young man, not much more than a boy, in a Navy uniform.

"That's my brother, Tom," Rose explained, "after he joined the Navy. He came home for a short time for our grandmother's funeral early this year, and I had a chance to paint a portrait of him then. I want to have it framed and hang it in the hallway with the other family portraits, but Mom only wants ones done by professionals on display."

"Why don't you hang it in your room or something?"

"I've thought about that, but I'd have to take something else down to make room, and I can't decide what to take off the wall." She picked up Jack's portfolio, opening it to the first drawing. "Did you draw this?"

Jack looked at the drawing…it was one of his family, his parents sitting on the couch while Betsy sat at their feet. He had been looking at it last night, not long before he had decided to climb down the trellis.

"Yeah. That's my dad, my mom, and my sister, Betsy." He pointed to each one as he named them. "I drew it last Christmas."

"It looks good." Rose looked more closely at the picture. "You have your dad's chin."

Jack rubbed his face. "Yeah, I guess I do." He gently took the picture from her, turning it face down to hide the familiar faces. Turning the pages, he showed her the other drawings—pictures of friends and relatives, some more cartoons drawn by his mother—and finally, a drawing he tried to hide from Rose, but he didn't succeed in slipping it into the pile before she grabbed it.

"Is that me?" she asked, holding up the picture. "It is!"

It was picture of Rose as he had seen her the day before, a combination of the first two times he had met her. She could see that he had drawn her in the formal dress she had worn to dinner, but there was a streak on her face—the blue paint she had gotten smeared on her cheek. She was glancing at something outside the drawing as she held up an oozing snail shell.

"I…um…I…" Jack tried to think of a way to explain why he was drawing her.

"This is cool. I don't look like a china doll like I do in my portrait in the hall." She grinned, setting the drawing down. "You have a gift, Jack. You do. You see people."

"I see you."

"And?" Rose tossed her head, expecting a compliment on her appearance.

"You're the most real person I've met here so far."

Rose's expression changed to one of surprise. "That…well…that's something I haven't heard before. I thought all of us were real," she joked.

"I mean…uh…well…it's kind of hard to explain—" The doorbell rang, but they paid no attention to it, allowing the housekeeper to answer it. "You…you're just…"

"Just what?"

"I don't know…more down to earth than anyone else…"

"Rose!"

Rose looked up, startled, as an older boy with black hair came into the dining room.

"Why aren't you ready?"

"What?" Rose's eyes widened as she remembered. "Oh! Our date! I'm sorry, Cal. I forgot."

"Forgot? How could you forget…" His voice trailed off as he finally saw Jack. "Who's this, Sweetpea?"

"Oh…um…Cal, this is Jack Dawson. Jack, this is my boyfriend, Cal Hockley. I think I mentioned him last night. He goes to the same school as us."

"What?" Cal grabbed Rose's arm. "Sweetpea, what is going on here?"

Rose yanked her arm away, rolling her eyes. "Don't flip your wig, Cal. Jack is my new foster brother. He's from Wisconsin. Dad took him in after his parents died."

"When did this happen?"

"Dad brought him here yesterday. Now, we're going bowling, right?"

"So, you do remember."

Rose narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't be rude. I'll be ready in a few minutes. It's not like the bowling alley's going anywhere."

"Rose—"

"Give me about ten minutes." Rose turned and ran from the room, leaving the two boys alone together.

Cal glowered at Jack, not so sure that he was just Rose's foster brother. Why had he appeared out of nowhere? Why was Rose so eager to spend time with him that she'd forgotten their date?

He picked up one of the paintings scattered across the table. Rose didn't usually show him her artwork…not that he cared much about art, or thought much of her work when she did show it to him.

Cal frowned at the unflattering depiction of Nixon. He didn't pay much attention to politics himself, but he knew that his father had supported the Republican candidate and wouldn't think much of the rude painting if he saw it.

Rose's interest in politics baffled Cal. He didn't understand why she showed so much interest in something he found so dull, and his views on the subject, when he thought about it at all, rarely coincided with hers—especially her support of the civil rights movement and her assertion that women were equal to men and should be treated as such.

Setting the painting of Nixon down, he picked up another canvas, this one depicting a scene he had seen on television…a large group of black protestors being driven back by dogs and fire hoses. His father had ranted angrily about that, saying that "the Goddamned Negroes don't know their place," but Rose's sympathies were evidently with the protestors. Keeping her opinions to herself had never been Rose's strong suit.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, setting the canvas down less than gently.

"I think they're good," Jack told him, defending Rose.

Cal gave him an aggravated look. "It's a silly hobby. And the things she paints…they're pointless. She seems to think she's going to be some sort of famous artist, righting the world's wrongs or something." He smirked. "Maybe a man would have a chance, though I don't know who would buy things like that. But a girl? Girls can't be artists."

"My mother was a cartoonist," Jack said defensively. "She got a lot of her work published."

Cal looked at him disdainfully. "Not in anything important, I'm sure. A woman's place is raise children and take care of the house, not draw pictures."

"You don't know much about women." Katherine Dawson had never been content to simply raise children and do housework…she had enjoyed her cartooning, and her sales of those cartoons had brought in enough money to allow the family to enjoy certain luxuries—they had been the first ones on their block to get a television set, and some of Jack's early memories involved half the neighborhood gathering at the Dawson house to watch TV.

Cal just looked at him scornfully, as if to say, _And you do_? Glancing at his watch, he clenched his teeth angrily, then looked at Jack.

"Stay away from her."

"Who?"

"Rose. She's my girl."

Jack held up his hands defensively. "I'm just her foster brother."

"You'd better remember that." Cal narrowed his eyes.

The two boys stared at each other with open dislike until Rose came back into the room a few minutes later.

Immediately sensing the tension, she asked, "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Sweetpea. Nothing you need to be concerned with. Let's go." Cal grabbed her hand and led her towards the front door, glaring at her when she pulled her hand away.

"Stop being such an ass, Cal. Jack's my foster brother. You have nothing to worry about."

"What makes you think I'm worried?"

Rose gave him a disdainful look as she opened the door. "It's a good thing Tom isn't around, or you'd be even more bothered."

"That's disgusting! He's your brother!"

"So is Jack." Rose waited until Cal was out the door, then followed him. "Come on. I want some time to bowl before I have to come home again."

Jack watched the bickering pair walk out the door. His eyes narrowed as he thought of Rose's arrogant boyfriend, wondering what she saw in him. He had only just met him, but he already didn't like him.


	6. The Orphan 5

**Chapter Five**

"Jack."

Jack looked up as Ruth came into the dining room, eyeing the papers and canvases scattered across the table.

"What is this?"

"Rose and I were looking at each other's art. We're both artists."

"I see." Ruth picked up the drawing of Jack's family and looked at it for a moment, but didn't seem to recognize the people in the picture. "Clean this up, please. Rose has gone out with her boyfriend and won't be back until dinner."

"I know." Jack started putting the drawings back into the portfolio. "She introduced us."

Ruth looked at him, wondering why he sounded so sour. Deciding it didn't matter, she added, "Pick up the canvases, too. You can just stack them on the table in the hallway near Rose's door."

"Sure." Jack turned to the canvases, avoiding looking at her. He didn't want to give her another excuse to yell at him.

After cleaning up the table, Jack wandered outside, bored. He had seen some of the neighborhood when Tom Bukater had brought him home the day before, and had seen more when he had accompanied the Bukaters to church that morning, but it was still largely unfamiliar to him. He wondered if he would get into trouble if he went for a walk on the chilly fall afternoon.

Jack was nearly to the end of the driveway when he saw a boy close in age to him working in what were probably rose bushes, now barren and brown in the late fall weather.

Curious, he walked over to him, noticing that he seemed to be pruning the bushes, carefully selecting which branches and twigs to remove. Jack stood and watched for a moment before he spoke.

"Hi…you need any help there?"

"No, no…I have it." The boy looked up at him, frowning slightly as he tried to figure out who Jack was.

"I…uh…I'm Jack Dawson. I just came here…moved here…yesterday."

"I'm Fabrizio Di Rossi. I'm the gardener and handyman for the Bukaters." He started to offer Jack his hand, then saw the amount of dirt clinging to his gardening gloves and thought better of it. "Are you a cousin of the Bukaters or something?"

"No…my dad and Mr. Bukater were friends during the war. My parents and sister died recently, so he took me in."

Fabrizio's eyes widened. "Oh…I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thanks." Jack ducked his head, not wanting anymore pitying looks. "You sure you don't need any help there? I don't have anything else to do."

"Well…" Fabrizio glanced at Jack's clothes—jeans and a heavy shirt, not things that would be ruined by getting them dirty. "I do have an extra pair of gloves…you don't want to touch rose bushes without them."

"I know…my mom grew roses at our house in Chippewa Falls."

"Where's that?"

Jack sighed, a little aggravated that no one seemed to know where his hometown was. "It's in Wisconsin."

"Oh." Fabrizio handed Jack the extra pair of gloves. "I don't have extra pruning shears, but I do have some scissors…you can go through and remove any dead flowers you find."

"Okay." Jack took the scissors and started looking through the bushes. "Di Rossi…is your mom the housekeeper here?"

Fabrizio nodded. "Yeah. She's been here since before I was born."

"Does your dad work here, too?"

"No…he died in World War II, before I was born."

"Sorry to hear that."

"I never met him…I've only seen pictures. Mom came here from Italy when the war ended. She says I was born two weeks after she arrived in America and three days after she got a job here."

"So…how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

Jack nodded. "I'm fifteen, just like Rose." He snipped a few dead buds, then asked, "Where do you go to school? Smithfield?"

Fabrizio laughed. "No, no. My mom can't afford to send me there. Only rich kids go to Smithfield. I go to one of the public schools—John Bartram High School. I'm a junior."

"What's it like, living in Philadelphia? I never even visited here before yesterday."

"It's okay. Most people aren't as rich as the Bukaters."

"Most people aren't rich where I'm from, either."

"Most people aren't rich anywhere." Fabrizio chuckled. "My mom and I aren't poor, though. The Bukaters pay her enough to live on, and Mr. Bukater hired me part-time when I was fifteen, plus I can work as much as I want in the summer." He stopped for a moment, concentrating on a scraggly-looking bush. "Where do you go to school?"

"Mr. Bukater says I'll be going to Smithfield."

Fabrizio whistled, impressed. "He must think of you as part of the family…that school's expensive."

"I went to public school in Chippewa Falls…it'll be weird going to private school. Mr. Bukater and Rose both say it has a good art program, though."

"You like art?"

"Yeah. I like to draw."

"Have you seen Rose's paintings?"

"She showed some of them to me this afternoon. She's good at painting."

"I don't know much about art…but she does paint good pictures." Fabrizio tugged at a loose shrub, frowning as it came out of the ground easily. "Damn. This one's dead…it looks like something chewed on the roots."

"Maybe it was a gopher," Jack guessed. "Or some of those snails they like to eat."

Fabrizio made a face. "I tried those snails once—they're called escargot. They're disgusting, but Mrs. DeWitt-Bukater makes them for all her parties."

"She…uh…she makes them herself?"

"Mom says that's the only thing she cooks."

"Does she catch them herself, too?"

"I think she buys them from somewhere."

Jack thought he understood a little better why she'd been so mad when he wouldn't eat the snails—when he had refused to eat something his mother had cooked, she had gotten mad at him, too—but never so mad that she had yelled at him in front of guests. "I still don't want to try them. I wouldn't eat them last night and she sent me to my room without dinner."

"Feed them to the dog."

"That's what Rose said, but her mother caught me trying to hide them in my napkin."

Fabrizio laughed, then stopped when he saw the look on Jack's face. Changing the subject, he asked, "Do you like sports?"

"Yeah. I was at a football game when…" He trailed off, not wanting to discuss the accident.

"When what?" Fabrizio saw Jack's expression and stopped. "Oh…before you came here?"

"Yeah…uh…there was a car accident while I was at the game."

Fabrizio shook his head. "That's awful…and you lost both of your parents in the accident?"

"And my sister." Jack looked down, his hand clenching around the scissors. "I'd rather not talk about it right now, though."

"Sure." Fabrizio tried to think of something else to say. "Hey…have you ever tried boxing?"

"Boxing?"

"Yeah."

"I've seen it on TV…but I've never tried it. I don't think my parents would have allowed it."

"Me and some of my friends belong to a youth boxing league. You should try it sometime."

"Maybe I will."

"We almost always practice on Wednesdays after school…you could come by then."

"Sure. Thanks. It sounds like fun." They had reached the end of the hedge. Jack handed the scissors and gloves back to Fabrizio. "I'll see you on Wednesday, then."

"Cool." Fabrizio stuffed the gloves in his pocket. "Nice to meet you, Jack."

"You, too, Fabrizio."

It was the beginning of a close friendship.


	7. Society Girl 1

**Chapter Six**

_August 7, 1962_

Rose turned from her latest painting when she heard a knock on her door. After wiping her hands on a rag, she went to answer the door, finding her father standing on the other side with a wrapped gift in his hand.

"Happy birthday, Rose," he told her, handing her the package.

"Thanks, Dad." She moved back and sat on her bed while he stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him.

Tom studied Rose's latest painting, a picture of a voluptuous blonde actress on a black background. "You're painting Marilyn Monroe, I see."

Rose looked at the painting. "It's for Lucy. She is so bummed out that her idol died—I thought the painting might cheer her up a little." She turned over the package in her hands. "I thought you gave me all my presents this morning."

"This one is just between you and me. After all, it isn't every day a girl turns sixteen."

Rose grinned. It was her sixteenth birthday, her painting was going well, and her parents were throwing a big party for her and friends that night—life was good.

"Well, go ahead. Open it," Tom encouraged her, seeing her tugging impatiently at the bow.

Rose didn't need any further encouragement. She tore the ribbon and paper off, gasping in delight at the two record albums. "El—"

Tom put a hand over her mouth. "Don't let your mother know. You know how she feels about rock and roll."

Rose held up the albums, both by her favorite musician, Elvis Presley. She looked longingly at her record player, but knew she couldn't play the records while her mother was at home. "Thanks, Dad!" She turned the covers over to see what songs were on the records, just then noticing something. "Why are they already open?"

Her father looked a bit sheepish. "I decided to listen to them myself first."

"And you still approved?" Rose was a bit shocked that either of her parents would approve of Elvis.

"You aren't the only one who likes rock and roll."

Rose gave her father a flabbergasted look. It had never occurred to her that her father might be a fan of Elvis Presley.

"Don't get me wrong, Rose. I don't approve of his dancing, or the way young girls throw themselves at him. But his music…well, that's pretty good." He smiled. "I guess your old man isn't as much of a square as you thought, huh?"

Rose threw her arms around him. "You aren't old, Dad, and you aren't a square, either."

"Glad to hear you think so." He paled slightly, clutching at his chest.

"Dad? Are you okay?" Rose looked at him worriedly.

After a moment, he answered her. "I'm fine, Rose. It's just a little heartburn."

"Are you sure?" At his expression, she tried to lighten her voice. "You need to be healthy to escort me to the debutante ball on Friday."

"I'm fine, sweetie. I just had a little too much spicy food for lunch."

Rose was still concerned—he seemed to have heartburn far too much lately—but knowing that he wasn't going to discuss it with her, she turned her attention back to the records. "Do you think I could get away with playing these at my party tonight? Mom doesn't have to know they're mine. I could say one of the other kids brought the records."

"I don't think that would be a good idea. You don't want to risk her taking them away."

Rose sighed. "I know, but one of my favorite songs is on here. _All Shook Up_." She sang a few lines under her breath, tapping her feet to the words. Brightening, she said, "You could tell Mom the records are yours."

Tom laughed. "She wouldn't believe it for a minute. I'll tell you what. You can play them, but if your mother gets offended, I'll take them away myself. That way you won't lose them."

"Okay. I guess you can do that." She walked over to the shelf that housed her record collection, carefully putting the albums away amongst the music her mother gave her slight approval to. "Mom really is a square," she mumbled under her breath.

"Now, Rose, don't be so hard on your mother. She's doing the best she can. It isn't easy to raise teenagers in this day and age."

"Not like when you were kids, right? Back then, all you had to worry about was losing all your money and starving to death."

"Rose…" There was a warning note in Tom's voice.

"Sorry, Dad. But Mom just doesn't understand. She wants me to grow up just like her and be a part of society, but I want to do more than that. I mean, country clubs and parties and fancy clothes are nice, but…there's so much more to life than that. And there's so many people who don't enjoy half the things we have. There are people who aren't even allowed to go into some places because of stupid laws. And women who work…they don't earn as much as men for doing the same jobs, and it's hard for us to get ahead. If I wanted to go into business like you, I probably wouldn't be able to get all the way to the top and make the decisions for whole businesses…I'd have to let some man do it for me, even if I knew more than him."

"I never thought you wanted to go into business."

"I don't…I want to be an artist. But I bet men artists make more than women artists! And I bet they get more jobs, too."

"That may be. Now, the question is, what do you want to do about it?"

Rose turned to look at her father. "I don't know. Something. Things are changing, Dad. People are marching for their rights and getting attention…but I don't want to just sit and wait for things to change. I want to be a part of it, maybe help make things change faster. I mean, it's 1962, not 1862!"

Tom shook his head. "Sweet sixteen, and ready to set the world on fire."

"It's not funny!"

"I'm not laughing at you, sweetie. Really, I'm not. But you are young, and your feelings may change. You still have two years of high school left, and then…"

"And then I'm going to college. I'm going to get a degree and have a career. I'm going to do something with my life. I'm not going to just get married and have babies. But that's what Mom thinks I should do!"

"There's nothing wrong with marriage and babies, Rose. Your mother and I have been married for twenty-two years and raised four of you."

"But I want more! Someday, I'll probably get married and have kids. I want more than that, though…I mean, some women dedicate their whole lives to raising children, but what do they do when the children are grown up? And lots of the girls my age…they think about nothing but boys and finding Mr. Right before they graduate from high school. I'm not getting married until I find someone really special, and I'm not having more than two kids. There are too many people in the world, and the environment is hurting because of it. Two kids just replaces the parents."

Tom stood, giving Rose a hug. "I'm glad you have ambition, Rose, and you're right that you would probably never be satisfied with a conventional life. Still, you don't know what the future will hold, and life may take you places you never expected. I know you think you're ready to go out there and change the world, but please, humor your mother, would you? She's not always wrong."

Rose sighed. "Dad…"

"And we've heard your arguments before. You and Jack have similar views…and a similar inability to keep your opinions to yourself."

"There's nothing wrong with saying what you think."

"No, there isn't, and I agree with you on many things, Rose. However, I still want you to respect your mother, no matter how 'square' you think she is. She's doing her best to raise you right, regardless of how old-fashioned she might seem."

Rose sighed again. "I guess, Dad."

Tom reached into his pocket. "Now, Rose, there's another gift for you, but it's downstairs."

"Is it something else I have to hide from Mom?"

"No…your mother and I picked this out for you together." He opened the door. "Come on."

Intrigued, Rose followed him down the stairs. "What is it?"

"You'll have to come with me to find out."

She hurried after him, surprised when he opened the front door and led her outside. "Dad, what…oh!" Rose stopped, staring at the new car in the driveway, not quite believing that it was for her.

"Happy birthday, Rose." Tom pulled the key from his pocket and handed it to her.

Rose stared at the car, a brand new Corvette roadster, hardly able to believe her parents were giving it to her. She had only gotten her driver's license that morning.

"Dad…oh, wow!" Rose hurried forward, examining the candy apple red convertible. When her parents had asked her what kind of car she wanted when she got her license, she had mentioned that she would like a convertible, but hadn't expected them to actually get one for her.

Tom had a wide grin on his face. "So…I take it you like it?"

"I love it!" Rose threw her arms around her father.

Ruth came out of the backyard. "Happy birthday, Rose. Mrs. Di Rossi and Fabrizio went and got it after I brought you home with your license this morning."

Rose hugged her mother, forgetting her earlier irritation. "Thanks, Mom. It's great." Looking around, she asked, "Where's Jack and the twins? I want to show it to them."

"Jack is in the backyard drawing something, Lucy is inside watching TV, and Julie went to her friend Beth's house," Ruth told her, watching as Rose turned and headed for the backyard, calling Jack's name. "I think she likes it," she told Tom.

"I think she'd be surprised if she knew you were the one who picked it out, and all I did was pay for it."

Rose returned with Jack and Lucy a moment later. "Oh, wow…cool!" were Jack's first words upon seeing the car.

"Isn't it a gas?" Rose followed him, Lucy close behind her, as he looked over the car, opening the hood and checking out the engine. "Who wants a ride first?"

"Me!"

"I do!"

Jack and Lucy responded to her question in unison, then glared at each other.

"Take your sister first, Rose," Ruth told her. "You can give Jack a ride later."

Rose looked at her mother. She would have preferred to give Jack a ride first—he seemed more enthusiastic about the car, after all—but Lucy's beaming face left no doubt that her younger sister was eager to ride in the new car, too.

"Okay." She nodded, gesturing to Lucy to go to the passenger side while she dashed inside to get her purse. "I'll give you a ride in a little while, Jack."

"Sure." He waved as she backed out of the driveway and took off with a screech of tires, making her parents cringe.

"I hope she can handle that car," Ruth remarked to Tom.

"She'll be fine, Ruth," Tom replied, craning his neck to watch as Rose pulled to a careful stop at the end of the street. "She just likes to show off a little."

Ruth sighed, but knowing that Tom had been the one to take Rose to practice driving the most—she herself would cringe, grab the dashboard, and try to take the steering wheel away from an inexperienced driver—she deferred to his judgment.


	8. Society Girl 2

**DARE TO LOVE  
Chapter Seven**

_August 10, 1962_

Rose was sitting at her vanity, applying her makeup in preparation for the debutante ball that evening, when there was a knock on the door.

"Coming!" she called, checking her face one more time before opening the door. "Oh, hi, Dad. You look nice," she said, looking at his white tuxedo.

He had a small, wrapped package in his hand. "I brought you something to wear tonight, Rose." He glanced at her pink gown, then looked back at the package. "I hope it matches."

Rose took the box, perching on the edge of her bed to open it. "You're giving me a lot of presents."

Tom smiled. "Well, like I said, it's not every day a girl turns sixteen…or has her debut."

Rose pulled the paper off the box, opening it and carefully lifting out an elegant pearl and diamond necklace. A set of matching earrings sat in the box.

"Dad! This is gorgeous…and it's my first piece of really fancy jewelry." She hurried over to the mirror and put the necklace on, admiring herself. Whirling around, she gave him a hug. "It's perfect!"

"I'm glad you like—" Tom stopped, clutching his chest and gasping in pain.

"Dad? Are you okay? We don't have to go if you don't—"

"I'm fine, Rose," Tom interrupted her, his face beginning to regain its color. "It's just a touch of heartburn."

"That's what you said on my birthday."

"Rose, I'm fine. It's nothing some antacid won't fix. And I wouldn't want you to miss your debut on my behalf. This is an important event in your life."

"It's not as important as your health."

"I said I was fine."

Rose opened her mouth to argue, then stopped when she saw the look on his face. Even if he wasn't feeling well, he wasn't going to admit it—not on such an important night for his daughter.

"Now, Rose, why don't you put your earrings on and come downstairs. Your mother and I want to get some pictures of you before we leave for the ball."

A couple of minutes later, Rose headed downstairs, still worried. She wasn't blind to the fact that her father seemed to suffer from "heartburn" more and more lately—and it had been especially bad the last few days. She didn't want him to make himself sick in order to escort her to her debut. She was looking forward to the ball, to be sure, but more because she was happy that her father was escorting her than anything else. Taking her place in society didn't really interest her—not with so many fascinating things happening in the world that she wanted to be a part of.

As far as Rose was concerned, her father's health was more important than a fancy party—but she knew that he was looking forward to presenting his daughter, and that no amount of arguing on her part would make him stop and take care of himself instead of giving her a debut she would remember.

* * *

An hour later, Rose walked into the country club ballroom where the debutante ball was being held, escorted by both her father and Cal. Ruth followed behind them, keeping a sharp eye on the other three kids. Jack, Lucy, and Julie were dressed in their best—and the twins, at least, were already restless.

Rose was still concerned for her father, who was pale and breathing shallowly. Every so often, he would raise a hand to his chest, rubbing it as though he were in pain, but whenever he saw Rose's concerned face, he stopped.

"Dad, are you sure you're okay?" she asked. "We can leave if—"

"Rose, I've told you that I'm fine," Tom reminded her. "Stop worrying and enjoy the party. You only debut once."

Rose frowned. It was obvious to her that he wasn't feeling well. "Um…Dad, there's some kids over there that I know. Cal and I are going to go talk to them, if it's okay with you."

"Go right ahead, Rose. This is your big night and I want you to enjoy it." He sat down in a nearby chair, hoping that she wouldn't notice how relieved he was to rest for a few moments.

Rose glanced back at him, frowning, as Cal tugged on her arm and led her towards a group of students from their school. Most of the girls were there with their fathers, but those who had boyfriends had also invited them.

It occurred to Rose that it was rather silly to hold a debut for girls who already had boyfriends, who still had two or three years left of school. In earlier generations, a girl's debut had shown the other members of her society that she was old enough to be courted, old enough to find a husband. Now, however, many girls had already begun dating, and although it was legal to marry at sixteen, most would finish high school before getting married…though she knew there would be a rash of weddings in June, as soon as the couples who had gotten engaged during high school graduated.

Rose looked up in annoyance as Cal tugged on her arm again. She would have been content to stand still for a few minutes, watching the activity around her, but he was eager to see his former classmates again before he left for Yale in a few weeks. She rolled her eyes as he strode around with her on his arm, greeting people and acting like it was his party, not hers.

She finally managed to get away from him for a few minutes, going into the ladies' room and checking her makeup.

"So…do you think he'll give you a ring soon?"

Rose turned to look at the girl who had spoken, a classmate who was known for being a gossip. "What?"

"Do you think he'll give you a ring?"

Rose shrugged. "Cal already gave me his high school ring."

"No…I mean an engagement ring."

Rose gave her an annoyed look. "I wouldn't think so. I'm only halfway through high school, and he's just starting college. Besides, I don't want to get married yet."

"Aren't you afraid he'll go off to college and find someone else?"

"There's no girls at Yale."

"Still…he'll be away from you, and there's no telling what might happen."

"I'm not worried." And she wasn't. Rose's early infatuation with Cal had long since faded, and she dated him more out of habit than anything else. Although she had to admit that her pride would be hurt if he found someone else, she doubted she would miss him terribly.

* * *

Dinner was served about half an hour later. Rose sat between her father and Jack, with Cal relegated to the spot across from her at the table. He wasn't happy about it, but the seating had been arranged in advance, and Jack had sat down and gotten comfortable before Cal could ask to switch seats with him.

The food was good, though Rose whispered to Jack that it wasn't as good as the meals prepared by Mrs. di Rossi, and Jack agreed and added that it wasn't as good as the dinners his mother had cooked for holidays. Cal glared at them whenever they spoke to each other, and only stopped when Rose kicked him under the table and leaned forward to tell him to stop being ridiculous.

After dinner, the debutantes lined up beside the stage to be presented by their fathers. Rose stood fidgeting nervously, more worried than ever about her father, who had eaten very little at dinner and was paler than ever, his breathing shallow and his forehead dotted with sweat that he kept wiping away. She was beginning to wish that the ball was over—perhaps when it was finished, he would admit that something was wrong and go to the doctor.

Finally, the debutantes began to parade across the stage, the girls beaming as their fathers stepped up to the microphone and introduced them.

When her turn came, Rose stepped forward on the stage, her necklace glittering. In spite of her worries, she smiled, proud that her father was introducing her. She kept the smile on her face even when he hesitated, as though he didn't have enough breath to speak, while saying her name and the names of himself and her mother.

The first dance of the evening was for fathers and daughters. Rose smiled as Tom took her hands and began to lead her in the dance—she'd always liked dancing with her father, even when she was a little girl. He seemed to be feeling better for the moment, too…he swung her around with as much energy as any man on the dance floor, and far more elegantly in Rose's opinion.

A moment later, however, as he swung her around a second time, he stopped suddenly, clutching his chest and gasping for breath, a look of panic in his eyes.

"Dad?" Rose grabbed his arm. "Dad, what's wrong?"

He opened his mouth as though trying to speak, then collapsed. Rose tried to catch him, but he was too heavy.

"Dad!" Rose fell to her knees beside him. "Dad, come on! You said you were fine!" Turning to the other guests, who were slowly becoming aware of the situation, she shouted, "Somebody help him! Please!"

The music came to a discordant halt at her cry. Ruth, Jack, and the twins came running, recognizing Rose's voice in the crowd. One of the other fathers, a doctor, pushed through the crowd and knelt beside Tom.

"Keep back, please. Let him have some air. Young lady, please stand back and let me help him." He took Tom's pulse and performed a cursory examination, then shouted, "Someone call an ambulance!"

Rose knelt beside her father again, ignoring her mother's attempts to get her to stand up and the doctor's attempt to get her to back away. Taking her father's hand, she whispered, "It's going to be okay, Dad. The ambulance is coming…you'll be okay."

Tears started running down her face. She had known that something was wrong, and yet she had gone along with his insistence that everything was fine.

"Rose, come on. Get up." Ruth crouched down beside her. "Don't cry, Rose. He'll be fine."

"No, he won't!" Rose wailed. "He's been having chest pains for a long time. Why did he keep saying it was heartburn when it wasn't?"

"He didn't want to worry you."

"But he did worry me! And now…now he's…he's…"

"Rose, look at me." Ruth turned her daughter's tear-streaked face towards her. "I need you to calm down. You aren't helping him by getting so upset, but you are scaring your sisters."

"I can't be calm! Not when Dad's just lying there…he could be dying!"

"Stop it, Rose!" Ruth shook her slightly. "The ambulance will be here in a few minutes. Until then, the best thing you can do for him is stand back and let Dr. McKibben help him."

Shaking her head stubbornly, Rose stayed where she was. Dr. McKibben wasn't doing anything more than monitoring Tom Bukater's pulse and breathing…and she wasn't interfering with that.

The ambulance arrived a few minutes later. Rose stood back when the paramedics began working with her father, but she didn't go far. When they loaded him onto a gurney, she followed them outside.

"I'm coming to the hospital with him," she told the paramedics as they loaded him into the ambulance.

"Ma'am…there really isn't space…"

"I'm his daughter! He was dancing with me when he collapsed. I need to go with him!"

"I'm sorry, young lady, but that won't be possible. Perhaps someone here can give you a ride…"

"I need to go with him!"

"Young lady, stand back. We don't have time for this." One paramedic climbed into the back of the ambulance with the patient while the other closed the door and headed for the driver's seat.

"Please! He's my father!" Rose chased after the paramedic, but Cal hurried forward and grabbed her arm, dragging her back so the ambulance could leave. "Leave me alone!"

"You can't go with him! Didn't you hear what he said?"

"Let go of me! He was dancing with me when he collapsed! I have to go with him!" Rose struggled, trying to get away. "Dad!" she screamed, her voice growing hysterical. "Dad!"

"Stop it, Rose!" Cal shook her. "Stop it!"

"No! Dad! Dad! Dad!" Her voice grew more high-pitched with each scream. "Daddy!"

"Stop it!" When Rose screamed again, Cal slapped her. "Calm down!"

"Get your hands off her!" Jack pulled the still-hysterical Rose away from Cal. "Don't you hit her!"

Rose broke away from Jack and chased after the ambulance, which was nearing the country club's exit. "Dad!"

A security guard rushed forward, grabbing Rose and holding her back until the ambulance pulled away. When it was gone, he led her out of the parking lot and back towards her boyfriend and family.

Sobbing, Rose sank down on the grass, unmindful of her expensive gown. Uncomfortable with the scene Rose had caused, Cal hesitated, then knelt down beside her before Jack could.

"Your mother's waiting for the car, Sweetpea. She'll drive you to the hospital…and your dad will be fine. You know he will."

"Go away, Cal! You don't know a damned thing!" Rose sobbed, wrenching out of his arms and going to stand on the curb, her arms wrapped around herself protectively.


	9. Society Girl 3

**Chapter Eight**

The DeWitt-Bukaters arrived at the hospital about twenty minutes later, Cal following. He had offered Rose a ride, insisting that he could get her there sooner, but she had only stared at him stonily, refusing to even speak to him.

Rose had stopped crying by the time they reached the waiting room, but she was restless, pacing incessantly, her high heels clicking on the floor as she moved from the nurses' station to the entrance to the emergency room and back again. Her hands clutched the fabric of her pink gown, wrinkling it and adding to the mess left by the grass stains.

"Sit down, Rose!" Ruth snapped after watching her daughter pace back and forth for ten minutes. "You're not helping matters any!"

Rose stared at her mother for a moment, tears threatening again, then sat down next to the twins, who were casting anxious glances at the emergency room entrance and trying to comfort each other, Julie in tears.

Rose's fingers grasped the arms of the chair as she followed their anxious gazes to the doors separating the waiting room from the treatment area. Looking away, she tried to find something—anything—that would take her mind off her father. What was taking so long? Was it a good sign or a bad sign that they hadn't heard anything yet? Nervously, she began drumming her fingernails on the arms of the chair, her feet tapping on the floor.

"Stop it, Rose." Ruth glared at her.

Rose stopped for a moment, but soon began tapping again. With an irritated look, Ruth got up and sat next to her, grabbing her hands.

"Rose, I know you're upset. We're all upset. But annoying everyone by making noise isn't going to help."

"I can't help it." Rose pulled her hands away.

"Yes, you can." Ruth looked up as a nurse came out of the emergency room and hurried over to her. "Cal, can you please get her a cup of coffee? There's a machine over that way."

"Sure." He headed in the direction Ruth had indicated, looking up in surprise when Jack followed him. Since they had been glaring at each other since they'd arrived at the hospital, he saw no reason why Rose's foster brother would want to be around him now.

Jack cornered him as soon as they left the room. "Keep your hands off her."

"What?" Cal looked at him in astonishment.

"Don't you ever hit Rose again!" Jack demanded, staring at Cal furiously.

"In case you hadn't noticed, she was hysterical. I only slapped her to calm her down."

"Yeah, that worked real well, didn't it? In case _you_ hadn't noticed, she tried to chase down the ambulance after you slapped her."

"She's calm now."

"Not through any help of yours!" Jack lowered his voice. "If you ever touch her again, I'll teach you what it feels like to be hit."

"What goes on between Rose and me is our business, not yours. Now, butt out!"

"I'm Rose's foster brother. I have every right to defend her."

Cal gave him a contemptuous look. "You aren't really her brother. In fact, you're only here because her father felt sorry for you. You'd better hope he lives, because you won't last long with the Bukaters if he dies."

Jack feared that he was right, but wasn't about to let him know that. "Why don't you mind your own business?"

"What happens to Rose is my business. Stay away from her. I've seen how you look at her—and it's not like she's your sister!"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!" Jack's temper was nearing the breaking point. Abruptly, he turned away and headed for the door. "You'd better get her that coffee."

Just as Jack returned to the waiting room, Cal close behind him, Ruth came out of the emergency room, her eyes red and her usually composed face a mask of shock and devastation. Barely sparing the two boys a glance, she went over to her three daughters, who were looking up at her in misery, knowing what she was going to say but still hoping that somehow it wasn't true.

Julie spoke first, her voice choked. "Mom…?"

Ruth bent down to the level of her daughters. "Girls…" Her voice broke. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. "Girls…your father…the—the doctor did everything he could, but…your father had a heart attack, and…and I'm afraid he passed away about ten minutes ago."

Both twins were crying by then. With a sob, Lucy launched herself at her mother, followed by Julie. Rose sat there in silence, trying to take her mother's words in.

_Dad…Dad's gone…he's dead…_

It didn't seem possible. Now that what she had feared had become reality, she felt strangely calm. It wasn't really true, was it? Men like her father didn't die…and certainly not at such a young age.

Reality finally sank in as she looked at her weeping mother and sisters. Tom Bukater was indeed gone…and nothing could bring him back.

Tears filled Rose's eyes. Slowly, she got to her feet, stumbling slightly as one of her heels caught in the hem of her dress.

Cal saw her and set the cup of coffee down. "Sweetpea…" He held his arms out to her.

Rose looked at him, reaching to wipe her eyes. Then she walked straight past him and threw her arms around Jack.


	10. Society Girl 4

**Chapter Nine**

_August 11, 1962_

"Rose? Are you still awake?" Jack knocked quietly on Rose's bedroom door. "Rose?"

He opened the door quietly, not surprised to see that the room was empty. After the DeWitt-Bukaters had returned home an hour and a half earlier—just past midnight—Rose had stood in the entryway alone, looking almost bewildered, as though she wasn't sure what had happened or how she had wound up there.

At the hospital, Rose had clung to Jack until they left, defying Cal's attempts to get her to come to him. She had cried the whole time, soaking the shoulder of his tuxedo and smearing what little makeup she was still wearing on his shirt. Cal's demands that she leave Jack alone and come with him had only caused her to cling to him more tightly.

She had finally let go of him when they went to the car, calming on the drive home and even seeming to doze a little, exhausted by her emotions, but when they had reached the house and she had followed the others inside silently, she had seemed lost, unsure of what was going on around her or if it was even real.

Cal, who had accompanied them back to the house, had finally escorted her into the living room, casting a warning look at Jack as he did so, his message clear—_stay away from her._

It had been another half hour before Ruth had managed to convince Cal that he did not need to stay, that they would be fine without him and he could return the next day to see Rose. Cal had protested, casting unhappy looks at Jack, but Ruth had been adamant. It was late, they were all exhausted, and they needed a chance to rest and take in what had happened. He could come back the next day to see Rose.

After looking warningly at Jack again, Cal had given Rose a quick kiss on the cheek—which she had barely responded to—and left, promising to be back in the morning. Ruth had coaxed Rose to go upstairs and get ready for bed, encouraging her to take a hot bath and try to sleep.

Rose had finally gone upstairs, Jack and the twins following, but he knew she hadn't settled down. His room was right next to hers, so he had heard her crying softly and pacing back and forth. At last, the noise had ceased. The only sounds he had heard after that were the twins talking to each other and crying and their mother trying to calm them.

When the twins and Ruth had at last gone to their rooms, Jack poked his head out the door of his room and crept over to Rose's door. When his knocks and soft calls went unanswered, he slowly opened the door, finding the room empty and the window open.

Glancing back to make sure no one caught him in Rose's bedroom, he tiptoed over to the window and looked out, noticing that some of the vines near the top of the trellis were loose and that there was a torn bit of pink silk on the windowsill.

Guessing that she had gone to sit in the oak tree, Jack hurried down the stairs and out the back door. When he reached the tree at the very back of the property, he heard the sound of Rose crying and whispering her father's name.

"Rose?" Jack looked up at the branches, guessing at where she was from sound of her voice. The tree was covered with leaves at this time of year, making it almost impossible to see someone sitting in it. "Rose, are you okay?" The question sounded dumb even as he asked it.

Rose was silent for a moment, just sniffing and wiping her eyes. Finally, she answered, "No."

"Can I come up?"

"If you want."

Jack climbed up into the tree quickly, finding Rose sitting on the same branch he had taken refuge on less than a year earlier. Sliding over carefully, he put an arm around her, allowing her to lean against him. She was still wearing the now-tattered evening gown, the fine silk catching on the rough bark of the tree. She had been using the skirt as a handkerchief.

After a moment, she spoke. "I guess I know what it's like now."

"What?"

"To lose a parent. Last year, I felt bad for you, but I didn't really understand what it was like. I still had my whole family. Now, Dad's gone…and it's the worst feeling in the world. I didn't know anything could feel this bad."

Jack was silent for a moment, not sure what to say. He did understand what it felt like to lose someone he loved—nothing had ever hurt more than losing his family the year before.

"At least you've still got your mom, and your sisters and your brother. You've got Cal." He wasn't fond of Rose's boyfriend, but he hoped that thinking about him would make her feel better.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't mean to make it sound like I lost as much as you did."

"You lost someone who mattered a lot to you. That's what's important. Not how many people you lost." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a package of cigarettes and a lighter. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Can I have a cigarette?"

Jack was a bit surprised at her request, but took one out and lit it for her. They smoked in silence for a moment before he spoke again.

"I liked your dad, Rose. He was a good man. I didn't trust him at first after he brought me here, but…he treated me like I was part of the family. My dad talked about him sometimes when he was talking about the war—he never wanted to say much about combat or any of that, but he did say that he owed his life to your dad. I guess that was why he trusted him enough to give him custody of his kids if anything ever happened to him and Mom."

"He was a good man," Rose agreed. "He cared about all of us and made sure he was there for us, even if it meant he didn't get as much business as he might have otherwise. He encouraged me to think for myself and do the things I enjoyed. He treated Julie and Lucy like different people, instead of assuming they were the same because they looked alike. He even convinced Mom to accept Tom's decision to join the Navy instead of going to Harvard like he did. He was disappointed that Tom decided not to go to college, but he accepted it anyway. He was one of the best people I've ever known—and now he's gone, and it's my fault."

"What?" Jack turned to stare at her, her face faintly illuminated by the glow of her cigarette. "What makes you think it was your fault?"

"He was dancing with me when he collapsed. If he hadn't escorted me to the ball—if he hadn't tried to dance with me—he wouldn't have pushed himself too hard and had a heart attack."

"Rose, you told me yourself that he was complaining a lot about 'heartburn' lately—I noticed that he seemed to be having trouble, too. It might have happened anyway…"

Rose shook her head vehemently. "No, Jack. I don't believe that. I knew he wasn't feeling well, but I let him escort me to the ball anyway. I even offered to skip my debut, but he wouldn't hear of it. He wanted me to have a debut I would remember." She took a long drag on her cigarette, trying to control her emotions. "I'll remember it, all right."

"But he was having chest pains for a long time before that. I remember seeing him rubbing his chest like it was hurting at my family's funeral."

"I knew something was wrong. I should never have agreed to this stupid debut in the first place. I don't want to be part of society and get married and have babies and never do anything. When I got the invitation to the ball, Mom was the one who wanted me to go. I didn't really care. She finally got me to agree, though—not because I wanted to be part of society, but because I wanted to wear a fancy dress and have Dad escort me. If I hadn't accepted that invitation, Dad would still be here."

"You don't know that for sure. He might have had a heart attack anyway. And you couldn't have known that he'd collapse at your debut. You can't tell the future."

"I shouldn't have let him take me to the ball. I should have…thrown a tantrum or something and refused to go."

"He looked so proud when he saw you coming down the stairs all dressed up—I think he would have been really disappointed if you'd refused to go to your debut because of him."

"Better disappointed than dead."

"But nobody knew what was going to happen—"

"—and it might have happened anyway. So you say. I don't believe it."

Jack sighed, knowing that nothing he said was going to convince Rose that her father's death wasn't her fault. Dropping his cigarette butt onto the damp grass below the tree, he put his arm around Rose again, wishing that he could make her feel better, but knowing from experience that only time and Rose herself could heal the pain she now felt.


	11. Society Girl 5

**Chapter Ten**

_August 17, 1962_

The day of Tom Bukater's funeral dawned humid and overcast, rain threatening. To Rose, who had been lost in a fog of grief since the night of her debut, it seemed fitting.

The household had remained somber for the past week. In place of the sound of folk music on Rose's record player—or rock and roll, when her mother wasn't home—there was silence. The radio was seldom turned on, and the TV sat unused and blank except for when the twins had decided to watch it one evening. Then they had quarreled over what to watch, ending with Julie running to their mother in tears and Lucy kicking the wall so hard she had left a black mark.

Rose had been unable to work on her painting, staring at it for a long time before tossing her paintbrush aside in frustration. Even Jack had given up on trying to draw what he had seen that night, setting his art supplies aside and wishing there was something he could do to help.

Cal had tried to draw Rose out, insisting on taking her out several times in spite of her protests that she just wanted to be left alone, but had brought her home in embarrassment two days earlier after she had broken down crying at a movie he had taken her to—a comedy—and had left as quickly as possible, promising to come to the funeral. She hadn't heard from him since.

Tom DeWitt-Bukater had returned home the afternoon before. Ruth had contacted him the day after his father's death, but it had taken several days for him to be granted leave, and longer still to travel from Okinawa, where he was stationed, back to Philadelphia.

Tom wasn't sure what to make of Jack at first—his parents had written to him about the boy his father had taken in, but they had written different things, his father thinking well of him in spite of Jack's initial discomfort with the Bukaters and his new home, while his mother had indicated that she wasn't happy with the child her husband had taken in and, though she knew he was the son of an old friend, wished he had been left in Wisconsin with his relatives.

Jack himself had done a double take when he had met Tom, Jr. for the first time—the young man bore a very strong resemblance to his father, aside from being a few inches taller and a quarter century younger. He had stared at his foster brother as though he was seeing a ghost. Rose and her sisters, however, had had no such qualms, launching themselves at their brother so hard they had knocked his glasses askew and nearly knocked him off his feet.

Later, Tom had talked to his mother and sisters about his father's death, upset but keeping his emotions under tight control, smoking cigarette after cigarette until his mother had taken them away from him. Later still, he had talked to Jack, borrowing a cigarette from his foster brother, and had made up his own mind about the boy who had unwittingly become a source of tension between his parents in the last ten months of his father's life.

* * *

Tom Bukater's funeral was scheduled for ten o'clock at the Presbyterian church he had gone to since childhood. The sanctuary was large, but the funeral was still expected to be standing room only. Bukater had been well-liked by many people during his lifetime.

The DeWitt-Bukaters arrived early, though there were already a number of people present. They walked silently to the front of the church, where the casket, the upper half open to reveal Tom's face, was situated. It was surrounded by flowers, some brought earlier, some left by mourners who had already filed past to pay their respects.

Rose stared at her father, wiping her eyes as they filled with tears. He almost looked like he was sleeping—but not quite. His face was too waxy-looking, too still to merely be asleep. Whatever had made him what he was had gone, leaving behind only the shell.

Beside her, Julie gave a whimper of distress at the sight, then started crying. A moment later, she turned and ran from the church, Lucy following. Ruth started to go after them, then changed her mind, knowing they would be back before the service started.

A few minutes later, they returned, Julie leaning against her twin. Cal was following them, looking very uncomfortable. While Ruth took the twins aside to try to console them, Rose went to Cal, stopping a few feet from him, neither of them sure what to say.

"Rose…Sweetpea…" Cal trailed off, tugging at his collar nervously. "I…uh…"

Rose wiped her eyes again and tried to hold her voice steady. "I…I wasn't sure you would come. After what happened on Thursday…"

"I…well, I promised I'd be here, didn't I?"

"Yes, but…"

"Rose…uh…did you want me to sit with you during the funeral? I will if you want…"

Rose thought about it for a moment, realizing then that she really didn't want him beside her. It was hard enough to deal with her father's death without Cal's nervous, half-hearted attempts to comfort her. Right now, she only wanted to be with her family.

"No, Cal." Her voice broke. She took a moment to compose herself, then went on. "I know it…the funeral and everything…makes you uncomfortable. You…you should sit with everyone else. I…I think it'll be easier that way."

"Are you sure, Sweetpea? I don't mind…" Involuntarily, his eyes went to Jack, who still stood near the casket, looking from his foster father to Rose and back again. Cal frowned slightly, wondering if Rose was sending him to sit with everyone else because she preferred to be with Jack.

"I'm sure, Cal." Rose saw her mother watching her out of the corner of her eye. "I…think I need to go sit down now. The funeral will be starting in a few minutes…"

Before he could say anything else, she hurried toward the front pew where her mother and sisters were sitting, hoping to avoid talking to him any further. She was relieved when she looked back and saw him moving toward a pew a few rows back.

Jack finally left the casket and moved toward the DeWitt-Bukaters, but as he was about to sit beside Rose, Ruth stopped him.

"The front row is only for family," she told him. "Why don't you go sit with Cal?"

Jack stared at her in shock. He knew that Ruth DeWitt-Bukater had never been fond of him, but he had never thought she would send him away from the family at his foster father's funeral. He saw Rose shake her head and turn pleading, tear-filled eyes to her mother, but it was Tom, Jr. who came to his defense.

"Let him stay, Mom."

Ruth turned to her son in consternation, but before she could say anything, he went on.

"Dad considered him to be a part of the family. At least, that's what it seemed like in the letters he sent me. Since this is Dad's funeral, I think we should respect his wishes and let Jack sit with us."

"Tom, I really don't think…"

"Mom, everyone knows Dad took him in and treated him like he was his own son. No one will think it's strange that he's with us." Tom was well-aware of his mother's concern for propriety and what others thought of them.

"Sit down, Jack," Rose urged, pulling him down beside her.

Jack looked at Ruth nervously, seeing her lips tighten angrily, but when a look around the now-full church convinced her that there really wasn't any other place for him to go, she nodded her assent, though her face remained unhappy.

The funeral service began a few minutes later. The assembled mourners listened quietly as the pastor spoke of Tom Bukater's life and accomplishments and read some Bible verses.

Rose listened to the pastor's words, but felt no comfort. All she could think about was the fact that her father, lying still, cold, and silent at the front of the church, would never speak to her again, never encourage her, never comfort her when she was upset. He would never again mediate between her and her mother when they disagreed. He wouldn't be there to see her graduate from high school, to help her select a college, to walk her down the aisle when she married. He would never celebrate another anniversary with the mother, or dance with the twins at their debuts.

Rose looked at Jack gratefully when he put a comforting arm around her, though she could almost feel Cal's angry gaze burning into them from a few pews back. Still, she had more important things on her mind than whether Cal was angry with her for accepting comfort from Jack when she would not accept it from him.

Her tears began anew when she recalled something. Looking at her father through eyes blurred by tears, she remembered that today was his birthday. If he had lived, he would have been forty-seven years old. There would have been a party, probably with important members of society. Later, he would have laughed, as he always had, about the fuss and accepted the gifts his children brought him.

There would be no party tonight, or ever again. The still life she had painted for him earlier in the summer would remain in her closet, wrapped in bright paper. Today there was only the funeral and burial, and then later, the wake and the reading of the will. In a short time, the church service would end and they would go to the cemetery. Tom Bukater would be placed in the ground, his final resting place marked only by a headstone, a headstone that gave only the most basic details of his life and what he had meant to his family…and so many other people, too.


	12. Society Girl 6

**Chapter Eleven**

Late that afternoon, the DeWitt-Bukaters gathered in Tom Bukater's study for the reading of his will. Much to Rose's dismay, Cal insisted upon staying with her, insisting that he was there for moral support. She suspected, though, that he was more interested in keeping Jack away from her than anything else, as he had been at her side constantly since the end of the church service, standing with her at the cemetery, following her around at the wake, and casting warning looks at Jack whenever he approached them.

Rose wished that he would leave, and had suggested several times that she would be fine if he went home. Her subtle hints hadn't seemed to get through to him, though, but she didn't feel like confronting him. She was exhausted—she hadn't had a good night's sleep since her father had died—and the pall of grief that hung over her made things like arguing with her boyfriend seem less than worthwhile.

There really wasn't any reason for Cal to be present when the will was read—he wasn't a member of the family, nor a close friend of Tom Bukater, nor an employee of the family—so it was unlikely anything had been left to him. Cal was aware of this, but his desire to keep Rose away from Jack was enough to keep him there, even when his presence was not quite appropriate.

When everyone was there, Bukater's lawyer, Dick Mercer, seated himself at the desk and opened the manila envelope containing the will. He glanced at it, then cleared his throat, looking at the assembled family members.

"Before I begin, I need to mention that Mr. Bukater made some changes to his will recently, but requested that I not mention them unless something happened to him. His physician, Dr. Lecesne, diagnosed him with an advanced case of heart disease several months ago, leading him to suspect that he didn't have long to live."

Rose's eyes widened. _He knew? He knew something was wrong, and insisted on escorting me to my debut anyway?_ She ducked her head, trying to hide her expression. _If only I hadn't agreed to that stupid debut, he might have lived longer. He might still be here._

Mercer went on. "I'm not sure how much any of you know about this, but Mr. Bukater was having financial difficulties in the last two years of his life." He glanced at Ruth, who shook her head. Tom had taken care of the finances during all the years of their marriage, except for when he was away at war. She had never had much say in the family's financial matters, and it had never really occurred to her to think about it. The money had always just been there.

The lawyer continued. "He lost some money in the recession of 1958, though not a worrisome amount, but he tried to recoup his losses with a series of investments that didn't pan out. Unfortunately, he wound up digging himself deeper and deeper into a financial hole, resulting in a lot of debt by the time he died. There is enough cash in his accounts to cover the debts, but not much more, especially after the money he set aside for his children is deducted from the total."

All eyes were on Ruth as she took in Mercer's words. She had been aware that her husband was having chest pains—he hadn't hidden it very well, in spite of the fact that he insisted it was just heartburn. She had tried to coax him to see a doctor, but he had put her off. Now, he had left her a widow with four children to raise—including one she wished had been left with his relatives—and, from the sound of things, not much money.

She was silent for a moment, looking around the room at her children. Finally, she turned back to Mercer.

"I think you should read the will now, and after that—after that I will decide what to do."


	13. Society Girl 7

**Chapter Twelve**

_August 19, 1962_

Ruth sat in the bank manager's office, staring in shock at him and the Bukaters' accountant, John Cooper. Even after her husband's will had been read, she hadn't been prepared for what she would learn at the bank.

Tom Bukater had built up a massive amount of debt before he died, much of it in the past few months. Ruth understood now why she had seen him looking worried so often, why he had spent so much time holed up in his study with the accountant now sitting beside her. His financial problems had been worse than even Mercer had known.

"Two million?" she asked, hardly able to believe her ears. How did a person get to be two million dollars in debt?

"Two million," Cooper confirmed grimly. "He made a number of bad decisions over the past four years, each compounding the one before it."

"And how much is in his accounts?"

"One and a half million," the manager told her, looking at the bank book before him.

"One and a half million…" Ruth echoed, her face paling. Even if she used every penny they had to pay back the debts her husband had accumulated, there would still be half a million dollars in debt—and nothing for the family to live on. There was life insurance, but that was only a hundred thousand dollars.

Thinking back over the past year, she realized she should have known that something was wrong. Her husband had curtailed her lavish parties, insisting that she throw them only on important occasions and telling her that she should accept more invitations from other people, that she should give others a chance to host the parties she was famous for. He had refused to sign the checks for many of her charitable donations, making the excuse that he did not agree with their goals. Two weeks earlier, when they had gone to buy Rose's car, he had steered her away from the most expensive models, pointing out that Rose wanted a convertible more than anything, and when he had gone to pay for it, he had spent a long time negotiating the price with the salesman, rather than simply paying the asking price.

She should have realized that something was wrong, but she hadn't. She had never paid much attention to the family's finances, aside from running the household and paying the servants. The money had just always been there. There had never been any need to budget, to worry about paying the bills. What most would consider luxuries were commonplace for the Bukaters.

She had never asked her husband about their finances, and he had never been forthcoming with information. She had been raised to simply accept what she was told—or not told. Even if he had discussed their financial situation with her, she wouldn't have known what to do. Ruth, like her mother and grandmother before her, had married a wealthy man and let him worry about money. It wasn't her place to question him, to ask what they had or how he earned it. She knew nothing about handling such matters; she had never even had a job.

Ruth Wolper-DeWitt had met Tom Bukater in 1939, when she was a first-year student at Radcliffe College and he was finishing his MBA at Harvard. Her parents had sent her to Radcliffe after she finished school, though they were less interested in their daughter earning a degree than they were in her finding a suitable husband. Ruth herself had never been terribly interested in college, taking courses in literature and art but far more interested in her social activities and in searching for a husband.

Ruth and Tom had met in October of 1939, and Ruth had immediately been smitten. Tom was six years older than her and from a wealthy Philadelphia family—even wealthier than the DeWitts, who were scions of Boston Brahmin society and had weathered the Depression well. Her parents had approved of the match, even though it would mean that their daughter would be moving several states away. In June of 1940, Ruth had dropped out of college and married Tom Bukater.

Now, twenty-two years later, a widowed Ruth DeWitt-Bukater sat in a bank manager's office, looking at the remnants of the once-vast Bukater fortune and wondering what she was going to do. Finally, she looked at Cooper.

"Did he have any other assets?" she asked, half-holding her breath. She knew there was the house, of course—but if she mortgaged it, there would be no way to pay the mortgage, and if she sold it, she and the children would have no place to live.

"Not as much as he once had," Cooper replied, looking through his briefcase, "but there are some. He sold a great deal of his stock trying to recoup the money he'd lost, but he did keep enough to receive about five thousand dollars a month in dividends—most of which went into paying his debts. The value of the stock right now, if you were to sell it, is about six hundred thousand dollars. The house, unfortunately, is mortgaged. He owed five hundred thousand dollars on it when he died, with monthly payments of about forty-two hundred dollars, it being a ten-year mortgage." Upon seeing Ruth's expression, he added gently, "I take it you didn't know about this, either?"

Ruth pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to ease her building headache. "No. He didn't tell me anything."

She knew the stocks provided a comfortable monthly income, though far less than what she was used to—but not enough to pay the mortgage, and if the bank foreclosed on the house, they would have nowhere to go. She would have to sell the stock to pay off the mortgage, and use the money in the bank accounts to pay the other debts.

Handing Cooper a sheet of paper, she asked, "Will the bequests be paid out before the creditors can get the money from the accounts?"

He nodded. "Yes." Reading from the paper, he wrote down the numbers and calculated the amount. "Five thousand dollars for Tom DeWitt-Bukater, paid out immediately. Five thousand dollars each for Rose, Lucy, and Julie DeWitt-Bukater and for Jack Dawson, to be held in trust until they go to college or turn twenty-one. One thousand dollars each to Paul and Mariah Inglett, your former chauffeur and nanny, and one thousand dollars to Sophia Di Rossi, your housekeeper. That comes to twenty-eight thousand dollars. Everything else is yours—once the debts are paid, of course."

Ruth nodded, her mouth tightening at the sound of Jack's name. She still couldn't believe that her husband had left such a sizable amount of money to a boy who wasn't even a member of the family—money that the DeWitt-Bukaters could have used.

"If I use the money remaining in the accounts to pay off the debts, how much stock will I have to sell in order to be free of debt?"

Doing some calculations, Cooper replied, "Five hundred fifty thousand dollars worth, once you figure in taxes."

"Taxes?" That was another thing Ruth had never dealt with, other than sales taxes on her purchases.

"Taxes on the income from the stock sales. Ordinarily, in cases like yours, there would also be an estate tax, but your husband owed so much that the remaining value of the estate is well under a million dollars, so you're spared that."

"So, I will be left with fifty thousand dollars in stock and the hundred thousand dollars from the life insurance."

Cooper nodded. "Plus whatever tangible assets you have—cars, works of art, antiques, jewelry—anything you can sell."

Ruth nodded, her face grim. She didn't mind parting with most of her husband's collection of automobiles, but the other things…she had no intention of giving her belongings up if she could avoid it. She had lived in luxury all her life and wished to maintain at least the appearance of continuing to do so.

"You will still have a monthly income of five hundred dollars from the remaining stocks, and the interest on the life insurance money, if you don't spend it, will be about a hundred and sixty-seven dollars a month."

A hundred thousand dollars in life insurance money and fifty thousand dollars in stock would have seemed a fortune to many people, but to Ruth, who was used to so much more, it seemed a pittance. Many people would have found the monthly income adequate to live on—though money would have been tight—but Ruth didn't know how she would manage on so little.

But what could she do? She still had family in Boston, of course—her mother was there, and her two brothers and their families—but she had never been particularly close to her brothers, who she had not even asked to come to her husband's funeral, and they were the ones who now owned the banks that had made the DeWitts their fortune. Her brother Milton would help, she was sure, but his twin, Morton, had far more power and would undoubtedly consider her a poor relation now, giving help only grudgingly and expecting every cent to be paid back—which she could not do.

Sarah Wolper-DeWitt, Ruth's mother, would be far more forthcoming with help, but that help would come at a price—she would insist that Ruth and her children move to Boston, as Ruth had learned long ago when, after quarreling with Tom, she had gone home to her mother for a short time, Tom Jr. at her side and Rose still growing within her. Her mother had been shocked that she had walked out on her husband and horrified at the idea of divorce—though Ruth had not actually been contemplating ending her marriage and had only been trying to get away from her husband for a few days until their tempers cooled—but had nevertheless told her daughter that if she did divorce her husband, the DeWitts would help her…provided, of course, that she moved back to Boston.

Ruth had returned home after a few days and made up with Tom, but she had never forgotten her parents' stipulation that any help she received depended on her returning to Boston to live. Much as Ruth cared about her mother, Philadelphia was her home now and she had no intention of leaving.

She could not ask her family for help, but there had to be something she could do. Looking at the papers Cooper had passed to her and the copy of the will Mercer had left with her, she realized that although she had inherited her husband's debts along with what was left of his estate, she hadn't inherited all of his obligations. There was something she could do.

* * *

That evening, Ruth called her children and Jack into the library to talk to them. Opening the folder of documents she had brought with her, she looked at them across the table.

"I talked to your father's accountant, Mr. Cooper, today," she began, glancing at the papers. "What he had to tell me was not encouraging. I was able to pay off the debts, but there isn't much left. For that reason, there will have to be some changes here."

The four younger DeWitt-Bukaters and Jack looked at each other, then back at Ruth, wondering what changes she was referring to, though Jack had an uneasy feeling that he knew what at least one of them was.

"The remaining stocks and the life insurance money will provide us with a small monthly income, but not enough to continue with the way things have been. I will be letting the servants go with the exception of Mrs. Di Rossi and Fabrizio, so you will have to keep your own rooms clean and do some chores around the house. It's not what any of us are used to, but there isn't much choice."

The three girls looked at each other unhappily; none of them had ever done chores in their lives, aside from the few tasks Rose had been assigned in home economics at school and the duties they had performed with other campers at the summer camp they went to each July. Tom just shrugged; he was going to back to Okinawa tomorrow and chores were a part of the daily life of an enlisted man. Jack was equally unimpressed—his parents had given him chores to do from about the age of five, gradually giving him more and harder tasks as he got older. It was nice to not have to do anything, but it wasn't the end of the world to have to help out a little. If that was all he had to do, he wasn't going to raise a fuss.

Ruth looked at the expressions on the five young faces at the table, growing increasingly uncomfortable with what she was going to say next. _It's for the best_, she told her herself, trying to justify her decision.

"After looking at the cost of schooling and other necessities, I have concluded that I cannot afford to support four of you. Therefore, as your father's obligation to the Dawson family ended with his death, and as he never took any steps to legally make Jack a part of this family, I have made arrangements for him to move to another home."

"What?" The twins and Tom looked at her like she'd lost her mind, but it was Rose's reaction that caught everyone's attention.

"No, Mom!" she cried, grabbing Jack's hand so hard that he winced and pulled away. "You can't! He's a member of the family! You can't just make him leave!" Tears filled her eyes, but she didn't try to hide them; instead, she stared at Ruth pleadingly. "Dad promised…"

Ruth stiffened, looking at the way her eldest daughter clung to Jack. She wasn't unsympathetic to Rose's feelings—her daughter, along with the rest of them, had been through a lot lately—but the attachment Rose had to Jack was more than just sisterly. Though she was sure both would deny it, there was an attraction between them that she could not allow to continue. Not only had they been treated as siblings for the last ten months, but Jack had no real prospects, no real future as far as Ruth could see, and Rose, she was sure, could do much better.

"That's enough, Rose," she told her daughter. "I've already talked to Social Services—"

"He already has a home, Mom!" Rose was on her feet now, her chair tumbling over behind her. "Dad promised Jack's father that he would take care of him! You can't break that promise!"

"Rosalind DeWitt-Bukater…" Ruth's voice was dangerously calm. "Pick up that chair and sit down."

"No!" Rose wiped her eyes, smearing her mascara across her face. "No, I won't! You never liked Jack, and you're just making an excuse that you can't afford to keep him here! You can afford to keep a housekeeper and gardener and send us to private school, but you won't even try to keep Jack here! You—"

"Go to your room, Rosalind." Ruth was standing now, too, staring down her daughter. "Now."

Rose shoved her chair out of the way, not bothering to set it upright. "I hate you!" she shouted, running from the library and slamming the door so hard that a picture fell off the wall, the glass in the frame shattering.

Ruth watched her go, then sank back into her chair, more shaken by Rose's reaction than she cared to admit. She wasn't about to show it, though.

"Jack, please pick up Rose's chair," she said quietly, shuffling the papers in front of her.

"Why should he?" Lucy burst out. "You're making him leave!"

"Yeah," Julie added, looking from Jack to her mother unhappily. "Rose is right. You just don't like him."

"Girls, I've told you why I made this decision. It has nothing to do with my feelings. Your father left us with very little, and I have to make do somehow," Ruth responded, wondering even as she did why she had to justify herself to a pair of twelve-year-olds.

"I don't think that's it at all." Tom suddenly spoke up for the first time that evening. "You and Dad both wrote to me about Jack, each of you saying something different. I could tell from your letters that you didn't want Jack here, that you wished Dad had left him in Wisconsin. Dad always had good things to say about him. I didn't know what to expect when I came back here for the funeral, but now that I've met him, Jack seems like a good kid. Dad made a promise to Mr. Dawson to help him if he ever needed it, and it sounded to me like he was happy to take Jack in. Dad's gone now, but I think his obligation to Mr. Dawson fell to you."

Ruth stared at her son for a moment, anger beginning to rise in her. Her children were right that she had never much cared for the boy her husband had taken in, but she also felt it was for the best for all of them that he be sent away. Their resistance to the idea was doing nothing to make her change her mind; on the contrary, it was making her dig her heels in.

"You're a fine one to talk about obligations, Tom DeWitt-Bukater," she said, going on the offensive.

Her son looked at her in confusion. "What?"

"Your father and I worked for years to be sure you would get into Harvard. When you applied, your father made sure that your application was at the top of the pile of those considered, and called in favors with old friends to be sure you were accepted. Then, after all that we did for you, you decided that your need for adventure meant more than your duty to your family, so you ignored your acceptance letter and joined the Navy instead."

"Don't talk to me about obligations, Mom," Tom told her, a dangerous edge to his voice. "I told you when I enlisted that I have more of an obligation to my country than to the business world. I'd been trying to decide whether I wanted to go to college or join the military for a couple of years before I made up my mind. I applied to several universities—all of them accepted me. I didn't need you and Dad to get me into Harvard. They would have taken me anyway—just like Yale did. But after I talked to Mr. McNamara, I knew that joining the Navy was the right thing for me to do. You should be glad I did. Think of how much more debt you would have if I had gone to Harvard—the Ivy Leagues are very expensive."

"If you had gone to Harvard," Ruth replied, "you would be about to start your final year. You would already have the education and contacts to get a good job, where you could earn enough to help support us."

"Is that what obligation means to you? Making sure you have enough money to stay rich?"

"Tom—"

"Do you want the money Dad left to me? It wouldn't do you much good—you'd go through five thousand dollars in a few weeks."

"I don't want your money."

"Then what the hell do you want?" At his mother's affronted look, Tom took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "The Navy does pay me, Mom. I can send you some money each month. It won't be enough for you to live in luxury, but it will help you pay the bills and put food on the table."

"You could do so much more if you came home and got a job."

"I have a job, Mom. _I'm in the Navy_. I couldn't come home even if I wanted to. I signed up for six years, and I've only completed a little over three. I won't be done until July of 1965, and considering that I actually like being in the Navy and am doing pretty well at it, I may just re-enlist."

Ruth's mouth tightened. "There must be some way for you to get out of your enlistment."

"Haven't you heard a word I've said, Mom? I like what I'm doing. I plan to keep doing it, whether you like it or not. And even if I didn't like it, I couldn't just walk away. That would get me into a lot of trouble. You have to have a good reason for leaving to get an honorable discharge. 'My mother wants to live in luxury' is not a good reason."

"Your father is dead, and you're an only son. Surely—"

"I'm not even going to look into it. I'll send you money to help pay the bills, Mom, but I won't do more. In spite of everything, Dad left you enough to live on if you learn to budget. But you're using it as an excuse to push away a family member, and I won't stand for it." Tom stood up, shoving his chair back. "This discussion is at an end."

That said, Tom turned and walked away. After looking at her mother cautiously for a moment, Lucy got up and followed him, Julie soon going after her. Ruth and Jack were left alone.

Ruth looked at the boy sitting across from her. He was fidgeting, his fingers tapping nervously on the table.

"Stop that!" she snapped after a moment.

Jack's hands stilled. He looked up at her, his expression unhappy but resigned.

"Jack, I want you to know that my decision has nothing to do with my personal feelings about you. I have to look out for my girls, and under the circumstances, it was the only choice I had."

Jack didn't believe her for a moment. He was well-aware of how she felt about him—she had never resigned herself to his presence—and her attempt to send him away from the family on the day of the funeral had told him loud and clear just how much she disliked him and resented his presence.

There wasn't anything he could do to change her mind, though, and since he didn't want to add to the tension that had filled the house since Tom Bukater's death, he simply asked, "Where am I going?"

He guessed that he was being sent back to Chippewa Falls to live with his mother's relatives, or perhaps to Minnesota to live with his father's family. It didn't make much difference to him, though he hoped he wouldn't have to live with his Uncle Paul and Aunt Nancy, with whom he had never gotten along well.

Ruth's answer, however, shocked him. "Social Services is searching for a suitable foster home for you in Philadelphia."

"What? But…why? I have relatives…"

"It would take too much time and money to track them down."

"But you don't need to track them down. I know where they are. I have all their addresses, and I write to them all the time."

"I've already made arrangements with Social Services, and it's too late now to make any changes. They should have a place for you within a week."

"But—"

"Don't argue with me, Jack. My decision is final. Now, I want you to go to your room." She pushed the papers back into the folder and closed it. "I have more work to do."

Setting his jaw, Jack got up and left the library, stalking towards his bedroom. He had grown used to living here and wasn't happy about leaving—and he was even less happy that he would soon be living with strangers again. The only good thing about staying in Philadelphia, as far as he was concerned, was that he would still be near Rose.


	14. Society Girl 8

**Chapter Thirteen**

The next morning, Jack wandered through the yard, looking for Fabrizio. His friend worked almost every day in the summer, so Jack knew he would probably find him somewhere outside.

Fabrizio was in a back corner of the yard, digging a hole for a new fence post, when Jack found him. So intent was he on his work that he didn't notice Jack at first.

"Need any help?" Jack asked, eyeing the section of fence Fabrizio was working to replace. Time, termites, and the combined efforts of Nettie and the neighbor's dogs had put the once-sturdy fence near collapse.

Fabrizio jumped, a bit startled. When he realized that it was Jack who was watching him and not the recently overcritical and micromanaging Ruth DeWitt-Bukater, he relaxed, grinning.

"Sure." He pointed to the extra equipment leaning against a tree. "There's extra gloves and another posthole digger there."

They worked in silence for a while, tearing out the old sections of fence and digging holes for the new posts. Fabrizio looked at Jack with concern when he noticed that he was tearing down the old fence with more force than was necessary.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, watching Jack break a rotted piece of wood into splinters, looking like he wished the piece of wood was someone's head.

"No," Jack replied shortly, then changed his mind. Fabrizio would certainly notice that Jack was no longer living with the DeWitt-Bukaters. "Actually…" He tossed the piece of wood aside and tore away another fence slat, the wood so damaged by termites that it broke away from the nails. "Mrs. DeWitt-Bukater decided that she can't afford to keep me here, or at least that's the excuse she made. She can afford to keep you and your mom working here, and she can keep sending her daughters to private school, but she can't afford to keep the promise Mr. Bukater made to my dad."

He looked at Fabrizio almost resentfully, though he was sure that his friend's continuing employment had nothing to do with Ruth's decision to send him away.

Fabrizio stared at Jack, his jaw dropping with shock. He knew that Ruth DeWitt-Bukater wasn't fond of Jack, but to send him away?

"But…where is she sending you? Back to Chippewa Falls?"

Jack shook his head angrily. "No. Not even to Minnesota. She's putting me in foster care in Philadelphia."

"Foster care? Is your family that bad?"

"They're great. Dad got mad at our relatives in Minnesota a few years ago, but I don't think it had anything to do with me. When I write to my cousin Billy, who lives on the farm in Minnesota, he always writes back right away and wants to know when I'm coming to visit. And my family in Chippewa Falls—they were sorry to see me go when I left last November."

"Then why is Mrs. DeWitt-Bukater putting you in foster care here?"

"She says it's because it would cost too much and take too long to track down my relatives, even though I have all their addresses. I think she just wants to get back at me for ever coming here in the first place."

"But you didn't have a choice!"

"Nope…but that doesn't mean anything to her."

"Does everyone else know…the rest of the kids in the family, I mean?"

"She said it in front of everyone."

"What did they say?"

"Rose got really mad, and when her mom sent her to her room, Rose told her she hated her and slammed the door so hard a picture fell down and broke. The twins agreed with Rose, and then Tom started arguing with his mom and even said a four-letter word to her, which made her really mad. When he left earlier this morning, he told me to watch out for her and be glad I wouldn't have to live with her after this week."

"She's getting rid of you that soon?"

"As soon as Social Services can find a place for me."

"She's a bitch."

"You're telling me." Jack slammed his posthole digger into the ground viciously. "At least I'll still be around you and Rose and the other friends I've made here, but…fuck. I never asked to come here, and I don't want to go live with strangers again."

Fabrizio looked thoughtful for a moment. Then a grin split his face.

"What?" Jack looked at him suspiciously.

"You don't have to go live with strangers. You could come live with my mom and me."

Jack's face brightened for a moment. Then he sighed. "That would be great, but what does your mom think about that idea?"

"Well…" Fabrizio's shoulders slumped as he considered the problem. Then he smiled again, an idea occurring to him. "She did say once that we're like brothers, and she nags you as much as she nags me." He let go of the fencepost he had been setting up, ignoring it as it fell to the ground with a thump. "Let's go ask her!"

"Fabri…"

"Come on! The worst she can say is no!"

Dropping his tools, Jack ran after his friend, wondering if there was any way Sophia di Rossi could be convinced to take him in.

* * *

It didn't take long for the boys to find Sophia. The roar of the vacuum cleaner in the library as she cleaned up the broken glass led them straight to her.

Jack stayed outside the library, straining to hear what was going on, while Fabrizio went inside to plead with his mother.

Sophia turned off the vacuum cleaner when she saw her son coming into the library, his dirt and grass-covered shoes leaving tracks everywhere he stepped.

"Fabri!" she scolded. "How many times do I have to tell you to wipe your feet before coming inside?"

Fabrizio looked down at his feet sheepishly. Then he looked back up at his mother, a pleading look on his face.

"Mama, I have a great idea."

Sophia was immediately wary. Her son only called her mama when he wanted something—usually something he was sure she wouldn't give him.

"What is it?"

"Mrs. DeWitt-Bukater decided she can't afford to keep Jack and is going to put him in foster care. Can he come live with us?"

"She's putting him in foster care?" Her boss hadn't shared that bit of information with her.

"Yes, but he doesn't want to live with strangers. Who knows where he'll end up? I know some foster kids who get passed from home to home, or wind up with really mean people. We're not that bad, you know."

Sophia sighed, rubbing her temples. "Fabri, Jack is a good boy, but I don't think we can take him in."

"Why not? He wouldn't be any trouble."

Sophia shook her head, looking at her son. "Fabrizio, you begin to remind me of when you were eight years old and begged for a puppy."

"But that was different! Dogs aren't allowed in our building, but people are. He could share my room."

"And how would I support him? I don't make that much, you know."

"He could get a job. There's a new restaurant opening on our block—I think it's called McDonald's or something. Besides, I heard that people get money when they take in foster kids—that's why some mean people do it, just to get the money. And he could go to public school like me—he said he went to public school in Wisconsin, so he's already used to it. And I'll be done with high school next June, so then you'd only have him to take care of. And he's a teenager, not a little kid."

Sophia sat down on the couch, almost smiling at the pleading look on Fabrizio's face. He looked as though he was about to get down on his hands and knees to beg.

"Fabri, at times like this you remind me so much of your father."

"Uh…is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Well…I never could tell him no, no matter how…outrageous…his plans were."

"So, does that mean Jack can live with us?"

"Yes, he come live with us."

Fabrizio whooped, pulling his mother to her feet and hugging her so tightly she winced. When she had finally disentangled herself from her son's enthusiastic embrace, Sophia looked at the door, which was slightly ajar.

"Jack, you can come in and stop eavesdropping now."

Slowly, the door opened all the way. Jack came in, looking a little embarrassed at being caught listening.

"Jack, she said yes! You're going to live with us!" Fabrizio exclaimed, having evidently not caught his mother's last words.

Jack already knew this, but he cheered anyway. "Woohoo!" He and Fabrizio pounded each other on the back before Jack turned and gave Sophia a quick hug, assuring her, "You won't regret this, Mrs. Di Rossi. I won't be any trouble."

"You two are already trouble," she complained, pointing to the clumps of dirt and grass their dirty shoes had left on the floor. "Go wipe your feet, then clean up that mess. I'll talk to Social Services when I'm done here."

The boys were too delighted to be upset by her scolding. "Thanks, Mom!" Fabrizio turned and headed for the door, Jack following him.

"Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Di Rossi!"

Sophia listened to their feet pounding on the floor as they headed outside to clean off their shoes, smiling in spite of herself. Despite her worries about being able to support a second child, even if it was only for a couple of years, she was glad to take Jack in. He was a good kid, and it would do her son good to have a brother.

* * *

Two days later, everything was arranged. Ruth had looked angry when she learned that her housekeeper was taking Jack in, but hadn't tried to stop her, instead giving Sophia and Fabrizio time to help Jack pack up his belongings.

Now, it was time for Jack to head for his new home. The last of his belongings were loaded into Sophia's car, and he was just checking his room at the DeWitt-Bukater home to make sure he hadn't left anything behind, though he knew Rose would bring it to him if he had.

He turned when he heard someone, finding Rose watching him quietly from the doorway.

"I can't believe you're leaving." Rose stepped into the room, which was empty now except for the basic necessities a guest would need.

"Your mom didn't give me much of a choice."

Rose's expression turned mutinous. "I can't believe her! What did you ever do to her? We can live without private school and expensive clothes, but she wouldn't even consider letting you stay."

Jack shook his head. "You know she never liked me. I don't know what she has against me, but whatever it is, she never did want me around. Now that your dad is gone, she doesn't think she has any obligation to me."

"She inherited everything he owned—"

"—including all his debt."

"She should have kept you here! She should have taken Dad's—Dad's obligations, too. It's just not fair."

Jack sighed, going over to her. "Fair or not, I can't change it, and neither can you. After I lost my family, I asked God over and over again how He could be so unfair, how He could have taken my family away. I never got an answer, but I finally figured out that fair doesn't matter. Things just are."

"Life may not be fair, but people can be," Rose argued back. "Mom had no right—"

"But she sent me away anyway," Jack interrupted. "It's not all bad. Fabri and Mrs. Di Rossi are great. I could do a lot worse than living with them."

Rose slouched against the wall, ducking her head to hide the tears in her eyes. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you, too. I'll only be a few miles away, though. You can come over anytime you want."

"I know, but…it won't be the same. You won't be _here_ anymore. We won't be able to sit up in the tree and talk whenever we want, and we won't be able to help each other with our art. At least, not as easily."

At Rose's words, Jack turned and hurried over to the portfolio he had left sitting on the dresser. "Before I go, I have something for you." He opened the portfolio, removing a carefully detailed drawing. "Here."

Rose took the drawing, her eyes widening as she looked at it. It was a picture of her father as he had looked the night of her debut, when he had proudly watched her coming down the stairs in her gown and jewelry, just before they had left for the debutante ball and only hours before his death.

"I told you he was proud of you," Jack told her quietly, watching as her tears overflowed her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

Rose wiped her eyes with one hand, taking in every detail of the drawing. "Jack, this is perfect. He looks so…so alive, like he could step out of this drawing at any moment and…and _be_ here." She wiped her eyes again, sniffling. "Dammit…I am so tired of crying."

Jack set his portfolio down and gave her a hug. Rose leaned against him, trying to stop crying. "Thank you, Jack," she whispered.

"You know, Rose, you're never going to forget your dad and what he meant to you. But it will get easier. After a while, you'll be able to think about him and remember the happy times, and it won't hurt so much anymore."

"That's hard to believe," Rose told him, shaking her head.

"But it's true. I learned that over the past ten months, since I lost my family. Yes, I still miss them, and I still think about them a lot, but it doesn't hurt as much as it used to."

Rose was silent for a moment. Finally, she looked up at him and said, "I hope you're right. How I feel right now…it's the worst thing in the world."

"Jack. Rose." They looked up to see Ruth standing in the doorway, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Sophia is waiting for you, Jack. I suggest you not keep her waiting any longer."

Reluctantly, Rose stepped away from Jack. "I'll walk you out," she told him, picking up his portfolio and handing it to him.

"He can walk himself, Rose," Ruth told her. "You need to go wash your face. It's red and puffy."

"Mom…"

"Now, Rose."

Rose gave her mother a sullen look before leaving the room and disappearing into her own bedroom, the door slamming behind her.

"Jack, I want you to remember that my sending you to a new home has nothing to do with whether I like you or not."

"It's a money thing," Jack responded. "Sure. I know." He brushed past her, heading for the stairs. Before he started down, he turned back once and said, "Tell Rose good-bye for me."

Then he was gone. Ruth stood staring after him, a mixture of guilt and relief going through her. She felt worse than she had expected about breaking her husband's promise, but at least she had succeeded in separating her daughter from the boy.


	15. Society Girl 9

**Chapter Fourteen**

_June 14, 1963_

Rose pulled into the carport and shut off the engine. Grabbing her notebook, she got out of the car and sprinted for the front door, ducking her head against the rain and hoping her mother wouldn't notice that she'd forgotten her umbrella again.

Today had been the last day of her junior year of high school. She was officially a senior now. Rose wished that she could feel the excitement she had expected to feel at coming to this milestone, but with life so uncertain, her happiness at being near to the end of school was tinged with worry.

Life had not been easy since Tom Bukater's death the previous August. Although Ruth had tried to hide her worries from her daughters, Rose had seen her frowning as she went over the bills, trying to find a way to make the lifestyle she insisted upon for herself and her children fit their reduced circumstances.

Rose had peeked at the bills when Ruth wasn't looking, her own concern increasing as she realized that her mother was spending more than was coming in each month, even with the help Tom Jr. was able to provide—which wasn't much. Enlisted men didn't make a lot.

Rose had casually mentioned to her mother that she was considering looking for an after-school job, knowing that even the small amount of money she could make would help, but Ruth had forbidden her to seek employment, insisting that she could provide her daughter with whatever she needed and telling Rose that she needed to concentrate on her school work.

Rose had conceded, knowing that she wouldn't be able to hide a job from her mother, but she had begun hoarding her allowance and her lunch money, taking food from the kitchen to school for lunch instead, and picking up whatever change she found on the ground, something she had ignored before. The twins were not so thrifty; at thirteen, they weren't nearly as aware of the family's financial problems as Rose was.

The world seemed like a scarier place to Rose without her father, though she had to wonder if it just felt scarier, or if it really was scarier. The previous October, as the world had teetered on the brink of nuclear war over weapons build-up in Cuba, Rose had watched events unfold on TV and realized that there were some things her father could not have protected them from, no matter how hard he tried. Though she had long been interested in what was going on in the world outside the small space she occupied with her family and friends, it was the first time she had truly understood that what happened in the world could affect her, too. If a nuclear war had occurred, it would have destroyed them all, regardless of their social status, regardless of their views on the world.

More than ever before, the Cuban Missile Crisis had made Rose want to go out in the world and try to change things, try to make the world a better place before they could annihilate themselves. She felt helpless, though—what could a high school girl do against things that could wipe out the whole world? She wasn't even sure she could take care of herself.

She had talked to Jack about her fears, and though he agreed that there really wasn't anything she could do about the threat of the world being destroyed, he did feel that there were things she could do to take care of herself. To that end, he and Fabrizio had decided to teach her boxing so that she could defend herself, Fabrizio reasoning that a girl without a father or brothers to protect her needed to be able to protect herself.

Unfortunately, Rose had proven none too adept at boxing. She always pulled her punches, fearing that she would harm one of her friends, and wasn't good at predicting their moves. The one thing she had ultimately proved good at was punching them in the nose, something that had resulted in bloody noses for both Jack and Fabrizio and had soon put an end to the boxing lessons.

When they had teased her about her lack of talent at boxing, she had retorted that they weren't so good themselves—she had seen boxing on TV and neither Jack nor Fabrizio could measure up to a professional boxer's level of skill. They had finally conceded that she was right—neither of them would ever be professional boxers, and the sport was more a way to work off energy than anything else—but they hadn't attempted to teach her any more of what they knew, either.

Rose glanced at the clock as she hurried up the stairs to her room. Cal was home from Yale for the summer and was picking her up for a date at 5:30. He had promised to take her someplace nice, so she had to get ready.

When Cal had left for college early in September, Rose had thought—even hoped—that it was the end of their relationship. She liked him well enough—usually, anyway—but he could be obnoxious and opinionated, often belittling her own opinions and goals. She had wanted to date other boys and had assumed that Cal would meet someone else and forget about her. In spite of women not being admitted to Yale, she knew that Cal would not lack opportunities to meet members of the opposite sex, especially after he bragged to her about the fraternity he had joined.

Nevertheless, whenever Cal had been home for a vacation or holiday, he had called her and wanted to see her, and he always seemed so pleased to be around her that Rose didn't have the heart to tell him she wanted to break things off. She often had fun on their dates, too, but after she got home, she would go over how she felt about him and wonder why she didn't have the courage to break up with him.

* * *

Rose was sitting outside when Cal arrived. The rain had stopped and the clouds dispersed, leaving bright sunshine and warm, humid air. He grinned when he saw her, his eyes lighting up, making Rose feel worse than ever about what she had decided to tell him tonight.

He gave her a quick kiss. "Are you ready to go, Sweetpea?"

She nodded, wishing she could think of some excuse not to go. "Let me just tell Mom I'm leaving." She hurried inside.

A moment later, she returned, a light sweater draped over her arm. She rolled her eyes, wondering why her mother insisted that she bring a sweater whenever she went out. It had to be eighty degrees. She was in no danger of catching cold.

Cal took the sweater and tossed it into the back seat of his car, holding the front passenger door open for her until she was seated comfortably.

"Where are we going?" Rose asked, rolling down her window and breathing in the fresh air.

"St. Ives," Cal responded. "I made reservations there over a month ago. I thought it would be…fitting."

Rose turned to look out her window, hiding her expression. St. Ives was a very expensive restaurant, one that her parents had gone to on occasion but had never taken their children to. She would have preferred doing something more casual and less expensive. It didn't seem right to let Cal spend so much money on her and then break up with him. Not that he couldn't afford it, but still…

It was almost six o'clock when they arrived at the restaurant. The maitre 'd checked Cal's reservation and a waiter escorted them to a table. Rose toyed with her menu, barely noticing what was printed on it, trying to decide if she should tell him now or later that she didn't want to see him anymore.

When the waiter returned with their drinks, Rose's resolve to end her relationship with Cal was strengthened. He didn't give her a chance to order her own meal.

"We'll both have the lamb, rare, with very little mint sauce," Cal told the waiter. Realizing that he hadn't asked Rose her opinion, he added, "You like lamb, right, Sweetpea?"

Rose gave him a fake smile, unwilling to make a scene. She did like lamb, but that was beside the point. Cal had a bad habit of ordering for her, as though she couldn't make up her own mind.

Her mind was made up. Rose set her drink aside, looking squarely at Cal.

"Cal, I—"

"Wait, Sweetpea. Before you say anything else, I have something to ask you." He reached into his pocket.

Rose felt a sudden sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She had a bad feeling that she knew what was coming.

"Rose, I…" Cal began nervously, bringing a small black box from his pocket.

Rose stared at it, her spirits sinking even lower.

"Over the past year," Cal began again, "while I've been away at Yale, I've missed you. You mean a great deal to me, and I was hoping that you would consent to spend your life with me." He looked at Rose, seeing how her eyes darted from the box to his face and back. "Rose, I'm asking you to marry me."

_Oh, shit_. Rose put a hand over her mouth, hoping she hadn't said the words out loud. Cal, mistaking the reason for the stunned look on her face, opened the box, revealing a large, sparkling diamond ring.

Removing the ring from the box, he reached for her hand, frowning when she drew back. Rose shook her head, trying to think of a way to reject his proposal that wouldn't hurt him.

"Cal, I…I can't. I'm too young…I haven't even finished high school yet."

"It wouldn't be right away…next year would be fine. You would want time to plan the wedding anyway."

Obviously, he wouldn't be put off gently. "Cal, no. I can't…I don't _want_ to get married. I…we…we're too different. You want a sweet little wife who will stay at home and be on your arm in public, who will make you look good. I…want more than that. I want to _do_ things. I want to go to college. I want to…to make a difference in the world." She looked down. Tonight was not going at all as she had planned. She had planned to break up with him—she had never thought he would propose to her.

Cal stared at her, not quite believing what he was hearing. He knew that she felt strongly about many things that were going on in the world, but had never thought she would turn down a marriage proposal in favor of some nebulous dreams.

"Sweetpea, you can make a difference in the world. You can work with charities, give money to them…I can give you anything you want."

Rose smiled sadly and shook her head. She did not want to wind up like her mother, so reliant on her husband that she had no idea how to take care of herself and her family. To be sure, Cal might live a long time, might keep his fortune, but then again…one never knew. She wanted her own life. She wanted to be able to take care of herself, not be at the mercy of anyone else. She did not want Cal to run her life, picking and choosing what she did, what causes she supported, where she went.

"No, Cal." Rose shook her head, dropping her napkin on the table and standing. "I'm sorry."

With that, she turned and walked out of the restaurant.

* * *

It was just past seven o'clock when the cab she had hailed dropped her off at home. Rose paid the driver, then hurried inside, afraid that Cal would follow her home and press the issue.

Before she could go upstairs, though, Ruth came out of the dining room, having heard the door slam behind her daughter.

"Back so soon?"

"Not soon enough," Rose mumbled, wishing she could erase the whole past hour.

She looked longingly at the stairs, but her mother wouldn't let her go until she'd grilled her about her date. In the past, Ruth had paid little enough attention to Rose's comings and goings, but since her husband had died, she was paying far more attention to what her children did, resulting in Rose being much more careful to get home by curfew, since her mother would wait up for her near the front door, making it impossible to sneak in by her bedroom window.

"How was your date?"

"Fine," Rose told her, hoping to avoid the subject…but no such luck.

"It was awfully short. Did something happen?"

Rose sighed, clutching the strings of her fancy purse. "He proposed to me."

Ruth's eyes widened. "And you were eager to share the news. Did he give you a ring?"

Rose shook her head. "Mom, I told him no."

Ruth stared at her in disbelief. "What?"

Rose looked down. She'd been afraid her mother would react this way. Finding a husband was important, in her mother's eyes, and if he was as wealthy and well-connected as Cal Hockley, all the better.

"Mom, I don't want to marry him. He…we just don't have enough in common. I don't want to spend my life with him…I want to make my own way in the world."

"And you think you can do better than him?" Ruth's words were sharp.

Rose looked up at her mother, stung. "I'd like to try."

Ruth took Rose's purse from her and set it on the table. "Come with me, Rose." Turning towards the dining room door, she called, "Finish your dinner, girls!"

When they reached the small sitting room at the opposite end of the house, Ruth escorted her daughter inside and closed the door. "Sit down, Rose."

Rose sighed, but did as her mother asked. "Mom…"

"I don't want Lucy and Julie listening in. This conversation needs to be private."

Rose fidgeted, tapping at the arms of the antique chair. "Mom, I—"

"Listen to me, Rose. You know what our situation is. Your father left us with very little…and not only do I have you to support, but also your sisters."

"What does that have to do with my not wanting to marry Cal?"

"Do you know how much the Hockleys are worth, Rose?"

"I never thought to ask."

"Rose, this marriage could solve all of our problems."

Rose looked up at her, finally comprehending what Ruth was saying. "You want me to marry him for his money?"

"He's not a bad person, Rose. I think you could be happy with him, if you just gave him a chance."

"No." Rose shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. "Mom, no. This…this is absurd. It's 1963! People don't marry for money anymore!"

Ruth laughed bitterly, looking at Rose cynically. "It happens far more than you'd believe, my idealistic daughter."

"I won't marry him! I don't want to marry anybody!"

"You certainly seem happy enough to act like his wife."

"What?" Rose stared at Ruth. Surely she couldn't know about…

"Did you think I didn't notice the grass stains on your dress and twigs in your hair after your date with him on Memorial Day?"

Rose turned bright red, confirming Ruth's suspicions.

"After you went to school the next day, I searched through your dresser. I found your diaphragm, and also your cigarettes. The cigarettes I confiscated."

Rose had wondered where the cigarettes had gone, but hadn't thought her mother had found them. She had blamed her sisters, but hadn't confronted them for fear of tipping her mother off to her smoking habit. Ruth hated the smell of cigarettes. She had more important things to worry about now than the fact that her mother knew she smoked, though.

"Mom, I…there's no need for me to marry him. There's no baby…"

"I didn't think there was. I know what a diaphragm is used for—though I wonder what doctor would give one to an unmarried teenage girl."

_One who was mesmerized by the sight of the extra fifty dollars Cal gave me_, Rose thought, but she didn't tell her mother that. Nor did she tell her that Memorial Day hadn't been the first time. It was bad enough that Ruth had figured out what Rose and Cal had been doing—she didn't need to know any more than that.

"What would your father say if he knew?"

Rose ducked her head. "He doesn't know, and he never will."

"And if he did?"

"He wouldn't be happy."

"What do you have to say for yourself, Rose?"

Rose scowled, a mutinous look coming over her face. "Nothing. It's over and it won't happen again."

"I think you should marry him."

"No!"

"Rose, think for a moment. You've already given him what you should have saved for marriage. You wouldn't have done that unless you had some feelings for him. And think of what your marriage could do for our family."

"I offered to get a job…"

"And I told you no. You need to concentrate on your schoolwork. I wish things were different, Rose. I wish your father were still alive. I wish we had enough money. But your father is dead, and we don't have the money we need. You, however, have the ability to bring this family back to its former status—if you make the right decision."

"But I don't love him!"

"That argument, Rose, was lost when you chose to sleep with him without waiting for a ring on your finger."

"Why don't you find a rich man to marry?"

"At my age?"

"You're only forty-two."

"Whether I might marry again or not is not the point. You have a wonderful opportunity in front of you, and you're just throwing it away."

"Mom…" Rose could feel her resolve weakening. She didn't want to marry Cal, didn't really want to marry anyone at this point, but she knew her mother was right about the money. It didn't seem fair to have all this on her shoulders, but as she'd learned, life wasn't fair. Would it really be so bad to be married to Cal? He did have his good points, hard as they were to find sometimes, and it would make life easier for her mother and sisters.

"All right, Mom." Rose bowed her head, trying to hide the tears that were filling her eyes. "I'll call him and tell him I changed my mind…if he'll have me."

"I think he will. A man who wants to marry a woman doesn't usually put her aside just because she gets scared and says no the first time." She bent down and gave Rose a hug. "Don't cry, Rose. It'll be all right. Once you get used to the idea, I think you'll be very happy."

* * *

The next evening, Rose went out with Cal and came back wearing a sparkling diamond ring.


	16. Society Girl 10

**Chapter Fifteen**

_February 12, 1964_

In spite of being engaged, Rose could not bring herself to give up her dream of going to college, and at the beginning of her senior year of high school, she applied to several universities, always selecting ones that had good art programs.

Neither Cal nor her mother took her desire to be an artist seriously, but Rose did not let this deter her. In fact, their resistance to the idea encouraged her. Rose could not bring herself to be the dutiful daughter and perfect fiancée that her mother and husband-to-be expected. Instead, she found herself deliberately looking for ways to needle them, reading books that they disliked, openly supporting political causes that they opposed, and continuing to work on her art in spite of their view that she could find better things to do with her time.

Ruth was easier to annoy than Cal, Rose soon found. Cal didn't care if she smoked—he had been the one to introduce the habit to her in the first place—and he liked rock and roll music as much as she did. He didn't care for her taste in reading material, though, especially when she showed him her copies of the works of Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg, and would roll his eyes and make belittling remarks when she expressed the opinion that everyone deserved equal rights and opportunities.

Sometimes her inability to keep her thoughts to herself resulted in more of a reaction than she had expected—or wanted. At one dinner party Rose attended at Cal's home, she created such outrage with a remark that the draft should be abolished that she was asked to leave. She and Cal had quarreled loudly and angrily outside after his father had asked her to leave, with Cal more embarrassed by her saying such things at society functions that by what she had actually said. Rose had stomped off to her car and driven home, half-hoping that Cal would decide to end the engagement, but the next day he had called her, wanting to see her, and had made no mention of the incident, apparently hoping that it would be forgotten if he didn't say anything.

The worst incident, however, had occurred on Christmas Day, when Rose had unveiled a painting she had made of Kennedy in the moments before he was assassinated. Ruth had taken one look at the painting and told her she was being disrespectful. Rose didn't see how—she had copied the picture directly from a photograph in _Life_ magazine—and said as much. She had intended the painting as a tribute to Kennedy, who she had admired since attending his inauguration, and—though she would only admit it to herself—she'd had a bit of a crush on.

Ruth had insisted that Rose get rid of the painting, and the argument had soon turned into a shouting match, ending only when Ruth had grabbed the painting and thrown it into the fireplace. Rose had snatched it back, burning her hands in the process, and had run from the house, driving the four miles to where Jack lived with Sophia Di Rossi. She had shown up at their apartment door, shaking with anger, and had told the whole story to Jack, showing him the singed painting and insisting that she was never returning home.

Jack had listened to her angry words and looked at what remained of the painting, surprised at Ruth's actions. He hadn't thought she'd cared that much for the deceased president, but then, the reaction of many people to the assassination had surprised him. Even people who hadn't liked Kennedy had been in shock, and he'd been very surprised to see usually dignified adults crying when they heard the news.

He hadn't seen anything disrespectful about Rose's painting, though, and neither had Sophia when she'd looked at it. Rose had stayed at the apartment all day, refusing to go home, until Sophia had told her that she had to go home, whether she liked it or not, and that she couldn't stay in the small bedroom that Jack slept in, even after Rose had argued that there was extra space now, since Fabrizio had graduated from high school in June and immediately joined the Army in hopes of being able to go to college in a few years.

After convincing Jack to keep the painting for her, Rose had reluctantly gone home, since she had no other place to go. She supposed she could have gone to Cal, but she doubted he would have been sympathetic. When she had gotten home, Ruth had met her at the door and apologized stiffly for overreacting. Rose had accepted her apology, but the bad feelings had remained.

* * *

One afternoon in February, Rose sat at her desk, doing her homework and listening to a record one of her friends, Marla Brunner, had given her for Christmas. The record was by a singer named Pete Seeger, who had been blacklisted as a suspected Communist in the 1950's, making it hard to find and, as far as Rose was concerned, delightfully subversive. She had laughed inwardly when she had heard her mother humming one of the songs from the record, knowing that Ruth would take it away from her and destroy it if she knew that it was by a blacklisted singer.

Rose sang softly to herself as she worked on her English assignment, a habit that drove her mother crazy when she caught her at it. Ruth had never been able to understand how Rose could concentrate on her homework and listen to music at the same time.

"_Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing? Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago…_" Rose sang to herself. The song actually felt very fitting for the assignment she was working on, analyzing the symbolism of the flowers Ophelia spoke of in _Hamlet_. She smiled to herself as she wrote a few more sentences in her essay. The song fit her, too—after all, wasn't she named for a flower?

A knock on the door interrupted her reverie. Looking up, Rose abandoned her assignment and hurried to answer the door, heart leaping in anticipation. It was the time of day when the mail was delivered, and she was hoping for a response from the university she most wanted to go to.

Sure enough, Sophia stood at the door with an envelope in her hand. Rose took it, thanking her, then sat down on her bed, looking over the outside of the envelope, her eyes widening as she saw the return address—UC Berkeley.

It was the response she'd been waiting for. She'd applied to half a dozen universities, most of them on the east coast and reasonably close to Yale, but the one that had interested her most was in California. She had been to California several times with her family when she was younger and had loved it there, making the thought of going to college there appealing, and after Jack had told her that he was applying to UC Berkeley, her mind had been made up. She had applied, too.

Rose examined the envelope, steeling herself in case it was bad news. It was a thick envelope, like the ones she had received from other universities she had applied to, but this was the one that really mattered to her. She knew she had a good chance of getting in—she had always been a good student, receiving nearly straight A's throughout high school, and had gotten high scores on her SATs and glowing letters of recommendation from her art teachers.

Finally, she tore open the envelope, grabbing the letter it contained and unfolding it.

_Dear Miss DeWitt-Bukater,_

_Congratulations! You have been selected for admission for the Fall 1964 quarter at the University of California, Berkeley. Your academic profile confirms your commitment to personal and educational growth. We are confident you will make a valuable contribution to the University's tradition of scholarship and service. This offer of admission requires that you successfully complete all current course work. You must also make arrangements for our receipt of your final high school transcript recording verification of your graduation._

_Enclosed you will find an enrollment contract, along with instructions for accepting our offer of admission and completing the enrollment process. You must submit the enrollment contract on or before May 1, 1964. When you return your form, our academic advising center will contact you and assist you in preparing your schedule. I, therefore, encourage an early response._

_If you are seeking on-campus residence, the enclosed housing application must be returned to the residence department. Priority for room assignments is based on the date your housing application is received by the residence department._

_In response to your application for financial aid, I am pleased to inform you that we are granting you a full four-year scholarship, provided your grade point average remains at 2.5 or above._

_On behalf of the entire University of California, Berkeley community, I extend a warm welcome and best wishes for your success. We appreciate your interest in the University and hope you share our enthusiasm about your future at UC Berkeley._

_Sincerely,  
Paul Dunbar  
Admissions Director_

Rose squealed in delight when she finished reading the letter. Not only had she been accepted, she had been offered a scholarship, too. She had been accepted to all the other universities she had applied to, as well, but this was the first one to offer her a full scholarship.

The thought of Cal and her upcoming wedding didn't even enter her mind as she hurried to read the rest of the papers in the envelope.

* * *

Rose could barely contain her excitement over the acceptance letter. She was smiling when she came to dinner, causing her mother to look at her suspiciously, as Rose was often more likely to sulk than to smile.

When all four of them were seated, Rose spoke up before the twins could start chattering. "I have an announcement to make."

Ruth raised an eyebrow, hoping that whatever "announcement" Rose had to make wasn't going to embarrass the family. "What is it?" she asked, sighing.

Rose narrowed her eyes at Ruth, wishing her mother could show a little more enthusiasm, but plunged ahead anyway. "I've been accepted to UC Berkeley in California and will be starting there in the fall." She grinned, hardly able to keep still.

Ruth stared at her daughter disbelievingly for a moment, then shook her head. "No, you're not."

Rose's smile faded, but she looked at her mother determinedly. "Yes, I am. I got the acceptance letter this afternoon."

"Is Cal transferring there?"

"Not that I know of."

"Rose, you can't go to college in California. You're going to be married in June. Perhaps, if Cal allows it, you can go to a college close to Yale, but—"

"If Cal allows it?" Rose slammed her fork down on the table, then took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It would do no good to get into another screaming match with her mother. "Mom, Cal has no say in the matter of whether I go to college or not. It's _my_ decision, not his."

"He's going to be your husband, so yes, he does have a say in it."

"Actually, Mom, I've been thinking of postponing the wedding anyway. I don't feel ready to get married yet."

"Rose…" Ruth looked at her warningly. "Your wedding is in June, and you can't delay it at this point. Too many plans have already been made."

"Plans can be changed," Rose retorted. "You've certainly asked me to change enough of mine."

"Rose!" Ruth got to her feet and walked towards the door. "Come here."

"No."

"Now, Rose."

Rose knew better than to argue when her mother used that tone of voice. Reluctantly, she followed her into the living room.

When the dining room door had closed behind them, Ruth turned to her daughter. Speaking a quiet but angry voice, she told her, "This is not a game, Rose. Our situation is precarious. You know the money's gone."

"Of course I know it's gone! You remind me every day—and all the while you spend what little you have left as though there were plenty. You've been doing that ever since I got engaged."

"Your father left us nothing but bad debts."

"He left a little more than that, but you insist on—"

"You have a fine young man from a good family who wants to marry you, and you want to throw it away for some pipe dream!"

"It's not a pipe dream, Mom! The university offered me a full scholarship. It wouldn't cost you—or anyone else—anything to send me there. I can get a good education and have a career of my own. Then I won't have to depend on Cal to take care of me and I won't wind up like you!"

"Rose!" There was a catch in Ruth's voice, and Rose knew she had hit a sore spot.

"I'm sorry, Mom." Rose paused, thinking for a moment. "Why can't you get a job to support us? Lots of women work, and you even went to college for a year. You could get a job."

Ruth's mouth tightened as she stared at Rose. "Doing what, Rose? There's no way I could make enough to support this family in the way we're used to."

"Most people don't live this way."

"But we do, and our family has lived like this for generations. Do you want it to end here? Do you want to see your sisters having to struggle, not having the advantages you've had? Do you want to see everything this family owns being sold off, leaving us nothing?"

"If you got a job, Mom, there'd be more money. Dad had no trouble earning a lot, even if he did go into debt."

"Women aren't paid nearly as much as men, Rose. I could never hope to earn enough."

"That isn't fair. Why shouldn't we earn as much as men if we do the same work? It isn't right—"

"Fair or not, Rose, that's the way it is, and complaining won't do any good. The only way this family can become solvent again is for you to marry Cal."

"Why does it have to be on my shoulders?"

"Why are you being so selfish?"

Rose stared at her mother, her mouth hanging open in shock. "_I'm_ being selfish? I'm not asking you for anything. I'm not taking anything from the twins. I just want to go to college and have a life of my own. How can that be selfish?"

"This family needs you to marry well, and soon. I know you don't find this easy, Rose, but women's choices are never easy."

"This 'choice' was pushed on me. I never had a say in the matter."

"You're not going to abandon this family like your brother did, Rose."

"Tom didn't abandon the family! He's serving his country! Sometimes, Mom, there are more important things than having lots of money."

Ruth sighed, shaking her head. "You're missing the point, Rose. Now, come and finish your dinner. I'm not arguing with you anymore. You're not going to college in California, and that's final."

"Like hell it is." Rose glowered at Ruth.

"Rosalind DeWitt-Bukater…" Ruth grabbed Rose by the arm, dragging her towards the downstairs bathroom. "I've had just about enough of this! All you ever do is whine, sulk, and argue. When I make a decision, it's final. You don't argue with me, and you never use that kind of language!" She grabbed the bar of soap. "Open your mouth, Rose. Now."

Rose clenched her teeth and refused to open her mouth. She'd been through this before. Her mother had never tolerated any kind of swearing from her children, no matter what the circumstances were.

"If you don't open your mouth right now, Rose, I'll give you something worse than a bar of soap in your mouth."

Knowing that Ruth meant every word, Rose finally opened her mouth. She almost gagged at the foul taste of the soap, uttering a stronger profanity around it when she knew her mother wouldn't understand her.

When Ruth took the bar of soap from Rose's mouth, she bent over the sink, spitting and trying to get rid of the taste. After rinsing her mouth with water, she straightened, glaring furiously at her mother.

"You want me to get married and keep the family solvent, but you still treat me like a little girl!"

"Go to your room, Rose. Maybe you'll be more civil in the morning."

"Fine. I'm not hungry anyway."

Rose left the bathroom and headed up the stairs, still seething.


	17. Society Girl 11

**Chapter Sixteen**

Rose paced angrily around her room. Her stomach growled hungrily as she smelled the food from downstairs, though the taste of soap still lingered in her mouth.

Finally, she stalked into the bathroom, bending over the sink and rinsing her mouth again and again. When the taste had finally disappeared, she went back into her bedroom, digging under her mattress for one of the candy bars she had hidden there.

She ate sullenly, not enjoying the taste of the chocolate as much as she usually did. She thought longingly of the pack of cigarettes she had also hidden under the mattress, but knew better than to light up in the house.

When the phone rang, she ignored it. She had her own phone in her room—her parents had given it to her for her thirteenth birthday, a pink Princess phone that had matched what had then been the décor of the room. After her mother's reaction to her acceptance to Berkeley, she didn't want to talk to anyone.

When the phone was answered downstairs, Rose went back to pacing. When her eyes fell on the stack of papers from Berkeley that still sat on her desk, she strode over and swept them to the floor. What did it matter? She had wanted to go there more than anything, but what she wanted didn't matter.

Rose jumped, startled, when someone knocked on the door. "Rose!" Lucy called from outside. "The phone's for you!"

Rose picked it up. "Hello?"

"Rose! I got in!" a voice squealed so loudly that Rose had to hold the phone away from her ear.

"What? You got into what, Marla?" she asked. She heard a giggle that wasn't Marla's on the phone. "Lucy! Hang up!" she demanded. Rose hated it when her sisters listened in on her phone conversations. When a soft click told her that Lucy had finally hung up the extension, she repeated, "What did you get into?"

Marla sighed in exasperation. "Rose, what have we been talking about all this time? College! I got into the one I wanted! I'll be going to Columbia University in the fall!"

Rose started to respond, then stopped, feeling jealousy wash over her. Marla was going to the university of her choice. Her parents weren't insisting that she give up her dreams for the family's finances. The Brunners were "new money," as her mother put it, but they had no financial worries. Even if they had, Rose didn't see them marrying off their daughter to improve their station in life.

"Rose? Are you there?" Marla asked, and Rose realized she had been standing in silence for most of a minute.

"Yes, I'm here." Rose tried to think of something to say. "Columbia…that's great, Marla. I know how much you want to go there."

"Well, don't get too excited, Rose. I know it's not Berkeley, but I'd be excited for you if you got in there."

Rose sighed, sinking down into a chair next to the phone. "Sorry. I'm glad you're going to Columbia. Really."

It was Marla's turn to be silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was hushed. "Oh, no. You heard from Berkeley, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"And they rejected you? But why? You've had straight A's all through school and you're a great artist and you got lots of letters of recommendation and everyone else accepted you—"

"They didn't reject me. I got in."

"Then what's wrong?"

"I can't go. I'm getting married in June."

"Oh." Marla thought for a moment. "But why does that matter? Can't you put the wedding off?"

Rose laughed bitterly. "Putting it off is out of the question. My mother would never—"

"What does your mother have to do with it? You're not marrying her! What did Cal say?"

"I haven't talked to him about it," Rose admitted. _I didn't want to hear his opinion on my dreams_, she thought, but didn't say it.

"Well, it's your wedding. If you want to go to college, you should be able to."

Rose hadn't told Marla about her family's money problems, and she didn't intend to do so—largely because her mother was ashamed of the situation and didn't want anyone to know about it. "I don't know, Marla…"

"Rose, don't be such a candyass!"

"Marla!" Rose couldn't help but laugh slightly. "All right. I'll talk to Cal. Are you satisfied?"

"You'd better. And tell me how it goes. You'll get there, Rose, one way or another."

After hanging up, Rose searched through her desk for Cal's phone number at Yale, steeling herself for the conversation to come. Cal didn't like it when she called him at school, always acting as though she was interrupting something important. This conversation, however, was one she felt couldn't wait.

Unfortunately, this was one of the times when Cal was definitely not appreciative of her interruption. The phone rang twenty times before someone finally picked it up, shouting into the receiver to be heard over the loud music and voices.

"Hello?"

Whoever it was sounded drunk, and it took several tries before Rose got through to him that she wanted to talk to her fiancé.

"You want to talk to Al? Who's Al?"

"No, Cal! Cal Hockley! Get him for me!"

The person who had answered the phone yelled into the crowd, then dropped the receiver. It was several minutes before it was finally picked up.

"Rose?" Cal's voice was slurred, and he sounded annoyed. "What do you want?"

Rose ignored his rude greeting. "I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

"I got accepted into the University of California, Berkeley."

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a college, Cal—in California."

"What about it?"

"They accepted me for next fall, and I want to go, but…"

"We're getting married in June."

"I know. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I'd like to put off the wedding for a while so I can—"

"No." Cal's voice brooked no argument. "We're not putting off the wedding."

"Then maybe I can go to California for college and come home during vacations, and we can see each other then. Plenty of married couples live apart some of the time."

"Absolutely not. After we're married, we're living together, and you're not going off across the country without me. You don't need to go to college. The only reason for a woman to go to college is so she can find a husband."

"I don't want to look for a husband, Cal—I want to study art."

"I'm not putting off the wedding so you can go to California and pretend to be an artist—"

"I'm not pretending! I'm good at art, and I think I can make a career of it—"

"No! Goddammit, Rose! You're my fiancée, and you'll be my wife. You're not going to waste time playing at having a career."

"I'm not playing! Dammit, Cal, they offered me a full scholarship, and I'm good at art. I've gotten awards, and all my teachers say—"

"Silly high school nonsense. Sweetpea, I don't have time for this. I'm trying to study."

Before Rose could say another word, he hung up. She stood clutching the receiver, listening to the dial tone for a moment, before she slammed it down.

"Damn you, Cal!" she whispered, staring at the phone.

College didn't mean much to Cal. There had never been any question that he would be accepted into Yale—his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all graduated from there, and there had never been any doubt that Cal would continue that legacy. As such, he felt no real need to work hard. For Cal, college was a four-year party briefly interrupted by studying.

Rose wanted to go to college, wanted to study and learn as much as she could. There was a whole world of knowledge out there, and she wanted to explore as much of it as possible.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be possible. She was going to be married in June, whether she liked it or not, and after that she would be trapped in a dull domestic life and an endless round of society events. The DeWitt-Bukaters' financial standing and social position would be saved, Cal would have her on his arm as he finished his degree and took his place in Hockley Steel—and she would be miserable.

_Maybe I am being selfish_, she thought. _Why should what I want matter when my mother and sisters could end up in poverty without my marriage?_

_But why is it all on my shoulders? Why should I be the one to give up everything? My going to college wouldn't take anything away from Mom and the twins—they're offering me a full scholarship, and I'm sure I could find a job to pay for everything else. If I had a career, I could help them by sending them money—and I wouldn't have to worry about winding up in the same position as Mom._

Tears blurred her eyes as she thought about what her future held—and didn't hold. _It's not fair!_ she thought suddenly. _Everyone has a future except me. Marla is going to Columbia University, Cal will get a degree from Yale and have a career without even having to work for it, and Jack will go somewhere—whether it's Berkeley or not. Mom will have all the luxuries she could want, and she'll never have to work for them. Lucy and Julie will graduate from private school and undoubtedly marry rich men. But all I have to look forward to is being married to a man I don't love, living a life I don't want._

Rose sank down in her chair, suddenly overwhelmed with anger and despair. _I can't take it! I won't!_

She leaped to her feet, lashing out in fury. Grabbing the telephone, she yanked at it until it came loose from the wall, then threw it to the ground. It landed with a clang, the dial flying off and landing several feet away. Rose kicked the offending machine, then turned her anger on her desk. Paper, pens, art supplies, and books went flying, landing with a crash. Rose had just turned her attention to her vanity, throwing her jewelry box against the mirror and cracking it, when the door flew open.

"Rosalind Sarah DeWitt-Bukater! What do you think you're doing?" Ruth stood in the doorway, staring at her sobbing, red-faced daughter and the mess she'd made of her room.

"Leave me alone!" Rose screamed, standing in the midst of her scattered jewelry. "I don't want to talk to you right now!"

Ruth strode across the room and slapped her. Rose collapsed on her bed, still sobbing.

"I expect this to be cleaned up before you go to bed," Ruth told her. "Mrs. Di Rossi is not cleaning this up for you." She surveyed the mess a moment longer, then added, "And I hope you realize that you won't be getting a new telephone or a new mirror for your vanity."

"I don't care!" Rose sobbed. "I don't care about any of it! And I don't want Mrs. Di Rossi to clean up after me! I can take care of myself!"

"Obviously not, or you wouldn't be acting this way. I don't understand you, Rose. You have everything a girl could want, and yet you insist upon acting like a spoiled brat. Now, clean this up. And yes, Rose, I _am_ going to check."

With that, Ruth left, leaving Rose staring after her in misery, her face still tear-streaked and her breath still hitching with sobs.


	18. Society Girl 12

**Chapter Seventeen**

Hours later, after Ruth and the twins were asleep, Rose stood at her bedroom window, staring out into the darkness. She had cleaned up the mess she'd made—at least enough to satisfy her mother—but she had no desire to sleep.

The house was silent, except for the sound of the grandfather clock downstairs, telling her that it was now eleven o'clock. Rose knew that she should be tired, that she should go to bed, since she had school in the morning, but she was still too angry, too upset to relax.

When the clock stopped bonging, Rose took one more look around her room, then grabbed a sweater and opened the window. Carefully, she climbed out the window and down the trellis, wondering what her mother would think—or if she would even care—if she looked out and saw her.

After making her way across the dark yard, Rose climbed up in the oak tree, wrapping her arms around herself against the bitter chill of the February night. Reaching into a pocket of her sweater, she pulled out a cigarette and lit it, staring into the darkness and thinking of the bleak future facing her.

She saw no way out. Her life had been planned for her, whether she liked it or not. She would be married after finishing high school, and from then on out, she would irrevocably be identified with her husband. She would always be Mrs. Hockley, Cal's wife, not Rose DeWitt-Bukater, student, artist, and a woman with a mind of her own.

Many girls would have been delighted to trade places with Rose—and she wished she could trade places with them. They could have her engagement, her extravagant wedding, her life with no identity outside that of a wife.

Finishing her cigarette, Rose dropped the butt into the snow beneath the tree, hearing the faint hiss as it was extinguished. _Just like my life_, she thought miserably. _All my hopes and dreams for the future are being put out as easily as that little flame._

Quietly, Rose climbed down from the tree. Though it had given her comfort many times before, tonight it was just cold and hard.

She wished she could talk to Jack. He had always helped her put things in perspective, found something to be hopeful about even when life was at its most difficult. She turned to go back toward her room, then remembered that she had broken her phone. She knew she could use the phone downstairs, but she knew that if her mother caught her using it at this hour, she'd be even angrier than she already was.

Rose looked up at her window, the only light still on in the house, and suddenly felt suffocated. She could not, would not go back in there—not right now. The beautiful mansion, her enormous bedroom, the closet full of expensive clothes—many of which she had never worn—_This is what I'm giving up my future for_, she thought.

Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to get away. Without a second thought, Rose turned and walked around the house toward the gate, opening it and heading for the street.

Rose didn't know where she going. She ignored the cold cutting through her sweater and her thin stockings, ignored the barking of dogs and the odd looks of the few people out and about at this hour, who wondered what a young girl was doing wandering down the street in the middle of a cold winter night.

When Rose left the neighborhood she lived in, there were more people around. Although it was late on a Tuesday night, many stores, theaters, and restaurants were still open, their light spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Rose didn't linger at any of them, but continued on, her arms wrapped around herself against the cold. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she found herself standing outside a familiar building.

The apartment building where Jack and Mrs. Di Rossi lived was shabby, but not rundown. Though she hadn't consciously been planning to visit, her feet had carried her there anyway. Not for the first time, Rose wondered what it would be like to live there, just an ordinary girl without all the pressures and expectations that her family's wealth and standing brought.

Rose shook her head, pushing the thought away. What she wanted to do now was talk to Jack, not daydream about how things could be. She walked up the steps, intending to ring the bell to let them know she was there, when she caught a quick glimpse of her watch.

She looked again, startled. It was almost one o'clock in the morning. Most of the windows in the building had no light shining from them, and Jack and Mrs. Di Rossi were almost certainly asleep. Even if they weren't, Mrs. Di Rossi would not appreciate her showing up at this hour and would call her mother to let her know where she was.

She couldn't visit, not at this hour. Sighing in defeat, Rose turned to go back the way she had come.

Before she had taken more than a few steps, Rose changed her mind. She couldn't stand the thought of going home.

Spinning on her heel, she turned and walked the other way, heading away from the apartment building and farther still from home. Soon, she was running, tears spilling down her cheeks.

_I can't go home! I won't!_

Before long, she found herself in one of Philadelphia's more rundown neighborhoods. Neon signs blinked, advertising bars, strip clubs, and X-rated films. The streets were still crowded here, people enjoying the various entertainments in spite of the late hour. As she passed a pawn shop, its windows covered with bars, a man who had been lingering in the doorway stepped out and attempted to stop her.

"Hey, baby…"

Rose gave him a shove, continuing her headlong race down the sidewalk. He started to come after her, then changed his mind when she turned and glared at him, her face warning him that she was someone he did not want to mess with.

After a few more blocks, she passed the glittering lights. It was dark here, except for a few dim streetlights, and quiet. Her side aching, Rose slowed, walking slowly forward as she realized she had come to a bridge spanning the Schuylkill River.

Looking around, Rose realized that she was alone. A few vehicles passed by, but none stopped.

With an odd mixture of relief and regret, she moved toward the safety railing separating the bridge from the open air and the water beyond. _I'll show them_, she thought. _I'll show them that I'm not just an object to be sold to the highest bidder. They'll be sorry._

Glancing around once more, Rose climbed over the safety railing and balanced precariously on the other side, looking down at the icy river below. Her hands clenching the rail behind her, she extended one foot over the open water, trying to convince herself to let go.

_Just do it. Jump. It doesn't matter. What do you have to look forward to, anyway?_

Her hands were loosening their grip on the railing when a voice came from behind her, startling her so much that she almost lost her balance.

"Don't do it!"

* * *

Half an hour earlier, Jack had been standing under a tree just down the street from his apartment, smoking one of the cigarettes Sophia Di Rossi had forbidden him to have and confiscated whenever she caught him with them. It was one of the few points on which she and Ruth DeWitt-Bukater saw eye to eye, and one on which Jack sincerely wished they disagreed.

Jack had been up late, finishing a project for school, when he had decided to have a quick smoke before going to bed. He had been outside, knowing that Mrs. Di Rossi was unlikely to catch him out there, when he had seen a young woman wearing far too little clothing for the cold approaching the building. He hadn't thought much about it at first, but when she had climbed the steps, glanced at her watch, and then headed back for the street, his curiosity had been roused. He'd watched her for a moment, wondering who she was and why she was wandering around so late at night.

The girl had started to go back the way she'd came, then turned abruptly and run down the street. At that moment, Jack caught sight of her face in the light of one of the streetlamps.

"Rose?" Stubbing out his cigarette, he turned to follow her. "Rose!"

She didn't appear to have heard him, because she kept going, racing across a narrow side street and causing a car to slam on its brakes. The driver honked angrily, but she kept running.

_What the hell is she doing?_ Jack followed her, breaking into a jog to try to keep her in sight. Rose was heading directly for one of Philadelphia's most dangerous neighborhoods. _Why is she running around here, at this time of night? Doesn't she know how dangerous it is?_

Jack continued to follow her, pushing through some crowds of people who blocked his way. Some people, already annoyed at Rose pushing past them, shoved him back, deliberately blocking his way. One large man with a strong smell of liquor on his breath grabbed Jack by his coat collar, slamming him up against a wall.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he asked, looking at Jack as though he hoped the young man would pick a fight.

"I…um…nothing. Sorry. Didn't mean to run into you. I was just…uh…following that girl there…"

"Watch where you're going, you little shit!" The man seemed about ready to hit him, but at that moment, one of his friends called to him. He gave Jack one last shove and moved back towards the bar he had recently emerged from, staggering slightly.

Jack didn't wait for the man to come back, possibly with his friends in tow. He turned and ran in the direction Rose had gone. He'd lost sight of her, but he could still occasionally hear the sound of someone's feet pounding against the pavement, so he followed, hoping he was going in the right direction.

He slowed as he approached the bridge, wondering if he was still following Rose. What reason could she have to be on a bridge over the Schuylkill River at 1:30 in the morning?

A moment later, he saw her standing on the sidewalk, looking out over the river—and then he realized her reason for being on the bridge in the wee hours of the morning, as she began to climb over the safety railing.

He moved forward, hoping he wouldn't frighten her into letting go.

"Don't do it!"

* * *

Rose jumped, startled, when she heard Jack's shout. She nearly lost her balance, but managed to tighten her grip on the rail before she could fall. When she had both feet more firmly on the ledge, she turned to look at him.

"Stay back! Don't come any closer!"

Jack came toward her anyway, seeing the tearstains on her face. She was shivering violently. "Rose, take my hand. I'll pull you back over."

Rose loosened her grip on the rail again. "I mean it, Jack! I'll let go!"

He straightened, trying to look casual. "No, you won't."

Rose glared at him. "What do you mean, no, I won't? You don't know why I'm here!"

Jack shrugged. "Well, you would have done it already."

"You're distracting me!" she cried. "Go away!"

Jack shook his head. "I can't do that. I don't know why you're here, but if you jump in there, I'm going to have to jump in after you."

"That's insane! You'll be killed."

To Rose's surprise, he took off his coat. "I'm a good swimmer." Dropping his coat on the sidewalk, he added, "It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't. What I'm more worried about is that water being so cold." He started to untie his shoes.

Rose looked down at the dark water, at the ice-encrusted bridge supports. "How cold?"

"Freezing, at least. Probably less, since the movement of the water keeps it from freezing solid." He pulled off one shoe, then went on, "You know all the stories I've told you about Wisconsin?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, it gets really cold there, and one thing my family liked to do in the winter was go ice fishing. Ice fishing is where you—"

"I know what ice fishing is, Jack!"

"Sorry. Well, when I was eleven, we were ice fishing on Lake Wissota one Saturday, and Betsy and I were chasing each other across the ice, even though Mom and Dad said it was dangerous. Anyway, I fell through some thin ice, and water that cold—like right down there—it hits you like a thousand knives, stabbing you all over your body. You can't breathe, you can't think—at least not about anything but the pain." He pulled off the other shoe, letting it fall to the pavement. "Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in there after you. But like I said, I don't have a choice. I'm kind of hoping you'll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here."

"You're crazy!"

"That's what a lot of people say, but with all due respect, Rose, I'm not the one hanging off a bridge here." He stood behind her, offering her his hand. "Come on. You don't want to do this. Give me your hand."

Slowly, Rose reached for his hand, grasping it firmly and turning around carefully. Jack gave her a tentative smile. "Whew."

Rose tried to smile back, but couldn't quite manage it. Still, she kept her hand in his and began to climb back over.

It happened in an instant—one moment Rose was climbing back over the rail, and the next, her shoe slipped on an icy patch, sending her plunging downwards. She screamed in terror, Jack's firm grip on her hand the only thing keeping her from falling into the river.

"Help me!" she screamed. "Please, help me!"

Jack tightened his grip on her hand, his face red from the exertion of trying to pull her up. "I've got you. I won't let go. Now, pull yourself up!"

Rose got her other hand on the rail and started to haul herself up. A moment later, she lost her grip, plunging back down, her screams echoing over the water.

Jack felt his grip starting to slip. Awkwardly, he grabbed for anything he could reach with his other hand, getting a grip on her sweater and finally pulling her back over the rail.

They landed in a heap, Jack on top of Rose. At that moment, they both heard the footsteps coming toward them. A cop who had been parked some distance down the bridge had heard Rose's screams and come running.

He grabbed Jack, pulling him off of Rose and snapping handcuffs on him before he could say a word in his defense. "Stay back!" the cop ordered him. "Don't you move!" He leaned down to help Rose to her feet, noticing that she was missing a shoe and two of the buttons were popped off her sweater. "Are you all right, young lady?"

Dazed, Rose accepted his proffered hand, getting to her feet. "I—I'm fine. I was just—" She noticed Jack leaning against the rail, his hands locked behind him. "Oh…oh, he didn't do anything…"

"That's sure not what it looked like."

"I know what it must have looked like, but…he actually saved my life."

"Saved your life, huh?" The cop looked skeptical. "And what were you doing out here, that he needed to save your life?"

Rose looked at Jack, willing him to agree with her. "I…my dog ran off, and I was trying to find her—you know, before she could get hit by a car. I thought I heard a yelp from one of the bridge supports, so I leaned over to see if it was her, and I slipped—and…and Jack here saved me, and almost fell into the river himself…"

The cop turned to Jack. "Was that what happened?"

"Uh…yeah. Yeah, that was pretty much it."

He looked at them both disbelieving, but unlocked Jack's handcuffs. "It's not safe to be out this late. For either of you! Anything could happen."

Rose nodded. "Yes…you're right. I was just so worried…"

"Your dog will probably show up when he gets hungry. Now, I want both of you to go home. There's a storm brewing, and you're liable to either freeze to death or wind up in some alley with your heads bashed in. Go home where it's safe."

"Yes, sir." Rose bowed her head.

The cop watched her walk back towards the end of the bridge, his eyes lighting on Jack, who was putting his coat and shoes back on. "Interesting, isn't it, how the young lady slipped so suddenly and yet you still had the time to remove your coat and your shoes?"

His radio crackled. Giving them one last look, the cop spoke into it and headed back towards his car, leaving Jack and Rose standing on the bridge.


	19. Society Girl 13

**Chapter Eighteen**

Jack and Rose walked off the bridge in silence, Rose limping as her now-shoeless foot felt the full effect of the cold. The thin stocking was already shredded, denying her even that meager protection.

After a moment, Jack stopped under a streetlight, looking at her. "What happened to your shoe?"

"It fell in the river."

He sat down, quickly removing his own shoes and handing her his socks. "Put these on."

"You don't have to give me—"

He was already putting his shoes back on over his bare feet. "It's two miles back to the apartment. You'll get frostbite."

Rose sat down and slipped the socks on her bare foot, grateful for the warmth. After a moment, they started on their way again, Jack staying close to Rose.

"Rose—what were you doing?"

"Nothing." Rose pressed her lips together. Earlier, she had wanted to talk to Jack, but now that he had saved her from committing suicide, she was embarrassed. Why had she done that? She didn't really want to die.

"Nothing? You were about to jump off a bridge. That isn't nothing."

"I was looking for Nettie."

"Bullshit, Rose. Even if Nettie did get out, which I doubt, she wouldn't be all the way down here."

Rose narrowed her eyes, quickening her step and walking ahead of him. Jack hurried to catch up, grabbing her arm to stop her.

"Rose, come on. You need to wait for me."

"I'm fine."

"This is a dangerous area."

"I went through it once without getting hurt."

"Well, I almost didn't, so would you please walk with me?"

"Well, then, hurry up. I'm cold, and it's starting to snow."

Jack set his jaw, walking more quickly. _What is her problem? I'm the one who almost got arrested keeping her from jumping off that bridge, and she's treating me like I'm the one who did something stupid._

It wasn't until they reached the neighborhood where Jack had exchanged words with the drunk and Rose had nearly been accosted by the vagrant that she finally spoke up.

"It was everything."

"What?"

"The reason I was on the bridge—it was everything."

"Okay…" He glanced at her briefly, then turned his attention back to where they were. It was quieter now, most of the businesses having closed for the night, but still not a safe place to be walking at two o'clock in the morning. "What's everything?"

"Everything. My whole life and everyone in it. Everything is just plunging ahead, whether I like it or not. I have no control over my own life." She looked around, relieved to see that they were past the dangerous neighborhood they had been walking through and were only a few blocks from Jack's apartment. "Look, I know what you must be thinking. Poor little rich girl. What does she have to be upset about? I've got everything—a rich fiancé, a nice house, everything a person could want."

"Actually, no. That's not what I was thinking. I was wondering what could have happened to you to make you want to jump off a bridge."

Rose looked down, concentrating on the snowy ground and the cold dampness seeping through the socks Jack had loaned her. "Like I said, it was everything. My mother, my friends, Cal…I just got a little overwhelmed."

"I think you just won the understatement of the year award." They were approaching Jack's apartment building. "Where are you parked?"

"At home."

"At home…how did you get here?"

"I walked."

"Four miles? At night? In this weather?"

"Yes."

Jack sighed. "Rose, why don't you wait in the lobby while I go upstairs and borrow Mrs. Di Rossi's car keys? Hopefully it won't take long, unless she's awake and yells at me for going outside in the middle of the night."

Rose shook her head. "You don't need to drive me home, Jack. I walked to get here and I can walk back."

"It's another four miles, and you're already freezing. Also, _I_ don't want to walk around Philadelphia alone at night, and I'm a guy. There are some things that are less likely to happen to me than to you." He looked up the street toward the bus stop, then shook his head. There wouldn't be another bus for a couple of hours. "Or I can call you a taxi."

"I don't have any money."

"Then I'm driving you home."

"Jack—"

Jack hurried up the steps, Rose beside him. "Rose, come on."

Sighing, Rose nodded. "All right, Jack." She followed him inside, more grateful than she cared to admit for the warmth. The lobby was unheated, but compared to outside, it was wonderfully warm.

Rose sat down on one of the hard chairs, stripping off the socks Jack had loaned her and rubbing her foot. She wished she hadn't lost her shoe, and hoped her mother wouldn't notice that it was missing. She supposed she could always blame Nettie, saying that the dog had chewed it up, but Nettie was four years old and had largely stopped chewing anything but her toys. Still, there was no way Rose would admit to her mother—or her sisters, or Cal—that she had tried to jump off a bridge.

Jack came back down a moment later, the car keys in his hand. "You ready to go?"

Rose put the damp, filthy socks back on her foot. "I guess."

They drove the four miles, silent again, Rose staring ahead the whole time. When they reached Rose's neighborhood, she finally spoke.

"Drop me off next door to my house, please. If Mom or Julie or Lucy are awake, I don't want them seeing me."

When Jack pulled the car to a stop and turned the engine off, Rose reached for the door handle, but Jack's voice stopped her.

"Rose…I saw you come up the building earlier, then leave. I called your name, but you didn't stop."

"I didn't hear you."

"I was outside smoking—you know how Mrs. Di Rossi is about smoking."

"Just like my mother."

"You seemed upset, and I wondered why you were there. I also saw the direction you were heading in, so I followed you."

Rose looked out the window for a moment, then turned to him. "Jack…thank you. I…it would have been a mistake to jump off that bridge. Also…um…thank you for going along with what I said to the cop. I don't know if you can get arrested for trying to jump off a bridge, but…"

"I don't know, either. Rose—"

"Please don't tell anyone, Jack, especially not my mother. Don't tell Mrs. Di Rossi, either."

"I won't. Rose…what—why did you try to jump off that bridge? You said it was everything, but…"

Rose looked at her hands for a moment. "I got accepted into Berkeley. I got a full scholarship, too."

"What?" Jack looked at her in confusion. "You don't _have_ to go, you know. Just say you changed your mind."

"I _want_ to go."

Jack stared at her, wondering what he was missing. "You tried to jump off a bridge because you got accepted into the college you wanted to go to?"

"I can't go. I'm getting married in June."

Jack nodded, beginning to understand. "Why did you apply to Berkeley, anyway, when you knew you'd be getting married and living on this side of the country?"

"It's where I wanted to go. I got accepted into all the colleges I applied to, but…this is the one I really want to go to. Besides, I knew you had applied, and since we both want to study art, I thought it might be nice to go to college together." She glanced up at him. "Did you hear from Berkeley yet?"

He nodded. "Yes. I got a letter from them this afternoon. I got in. No scholarship or anything, but I've got the money your dad left me, plus some I inherited from my parents, and I've applied for some other scholarships, so…I'll do okay."

"So you're going, then."

"Yeah."

Rose looked away, biting her lower lip. It was bad enough that she would be getting married and wouldn't be allowed to go to college, but Jack would be clear across the country.

"Congratulations."

"Thanks. Rose…if you want to go to Berkeley, why don't you delay the wedding a year or two? You don't seem very excited about it."

"It's fine. It's my wedding, after all."

"It just seems like, if you were really looking forward to getting married, you wouldn't have applied to a college so far away."

"It was a mistake, okay?" Rose's voice was sharper than she intended. Taking a deep breath, she went on, "I didn't think before I applied. It was a dumb thing to do. I'm getting married in June—and I'm looking forward to it." When Jack looked at her skeptically, she added, "Really."

"Rose, come on..."

"I am looking forward to it. It's going to be the kind of wedding every girl dreams about. I'll be marrying a rich, handsome man with a good future…"

"Do you love him?"

"What?"

"Do you love Cal, or not?"

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Because you sure don't sound very loving when you talk about him."

"Look, Jack, I'm fine. I'll be fine. I love Cal." The words sounded hollow even to her. "Really," she repeated.

"Rose, you're no picnic, okay? You're a spoiled brat, even, but under that, you're…you're one of the most amazing girls I've ever known. You keep saying you're happy, but after what happened tonight—and the way you talk about Cal—I don't think you are. You're meant for more than this, Rose."

"Jack, I…" Rose reached for the door handle. "I'm looking forward to being married—doesn't every girl look forward to that? I have everything a girl could want." She opened the door, stepping out into the deepening snow. "Here's your socks back."

"Rose…"

"Good night, Jack. Thank you for the ride."

Without another word, she closed the car door and hurried through the snow toward her own yard, slipping through the gate and watching until Jack drove away.

* * *

Rose was never more grateful for the warmth of her house. As she closed her window and changed into a warm nightgown, her eyes kept straying to the pile of papers on her desk that she had stacked there while cleaning up the mess she'd made.

The acceptance letter from Berkeley was on top. Though she knew there was no way she could attend the university, she couldn't help but wish that she could.

Finally, just before she slipped into bed, she made up her mind. Quickly sorting through the papers, she selected the ones she would need to accept the scholarship and enroll in the university. After placing them inside her art textbook, she climbed into bed. She would write a letter to the university in study hall tomorrow.

As she fell asleep, Rose hoped desperately that she would be able to think of a way to convince Cal to postpone the wedding.


	20. Society Girl 14

**Chapter Nineteen**

_March 28, 1964_

Rose sat in front of her cracked vanity mirror, applying her makeup. Tonight was her engagement gala.

Though a month and a half had passed since the night Rose had decided that she would go to Berkeley, regardless of what anyone else thought, she had yet to bring the subject up with Cal again. She had seen him only once in that time, when he had come home from Yale for a weekend in late February, and she hadn't been able to find the courage to talk to him about her wish to postpone the wedding. She hadn't mentioned it when talking to him on the phone, either, for fear that he would react in the same way he had before.

Rose wondered if Cal even remembered their conversation about Berkeley. He had been drunk that night, and he hadn't brought it up since. If he did remember, she thought he might be hoping that the issue had disappeared.

Cal was home for spring break now, and their engagement party was tonight at the Hockley mansion. Rose knew that she had to tell him soon—it wasn't right to let him make plans for their married life in the near future when she wanted to put off the wedding as long as possible.

Sometimes Rose wondered why Cal wanted to marry her. At not quite twenty years old, he was much too young for a trophy wife, and she would still be only seventeen on their planned wedding day. It couldn't be to get her in bed, either—he had already done that, and continued to do so whenever he was in town.

In spite of Rose's embarrassment over her mother's discovery of her diaphragm, she had continued to sleep with Cal. She wasn't particularly fond of him, nor did she really want to marry him, but if she could enjoy one part of their relationship, she would, regardless of what her mother thought.

As Rose finished her makeup and began to brush out her hair, she thought back to when she had first met Cal. It had been the first day of her freshman year of high school when she noticed the dark-haired junior whose locker was near hers. She knew who he was, of course—the Hockleys were well-known in her social circle—but she had never met him in person.

Rose hadn't been able to stop staring at him. The boys she had known in junior high seemed childish and immature next to the older boy. He had glanced at her briefly, without much interest, then left, falling into step with a girl with shoulder-length blonde hair.

It was the first real crush Rose had had, and she had thought about him constantly in the weeks that followed, dawdling at her locker in hopes of seeing him, drawing pictures of him in the margins of her notebook, and talking about him so constantly that her friends had rolled their eyes and told her to just talk to him if she thought he was so wonderful.

Rose had been sure that he would never notice her. She was too young, too skinny, her hair too short, though the style she had insisted upon just before school started was fashionable and her friends admired it.

It was more than halfway through the school year before Cal finally noticed her. Rose was jealous of the girls he talked to, wishing she was one of them, but after she noticed one of them dropping a book in front of Cal so he would pick it up for her, she decided to try the same tactic.

It hadn't worked quite as she had planned. Instead of dropping one book, the entire pile slipped from her hands, along with her notebook. Papers had scattered all over the hallway, and Cal had nearly tripped over her math book. Horribly embarrassed, Rose had hurried to pick up her belongings, wishing she had never tried to get Cal's attention. When he had handed her the math book, along with several papers that had been inside it, she had been even more mortified—the top paper had a not-so-elegantly drawn picture of the two of them on it, surrounded by a heart and topped by the words Rose and Cal forever.

Rose had been so humiliated, she hadn't been able to look at Cal—or anyone else—when he handed her the book and papers. Ducking her head, she had stuffed her belongings back in her locker and run to the girls' restroom to hide, sure the whole school was laughing at her.

After school, she had slunk to her locker, trying not to look in Cal's direction as she collected the books she would need for her homework. She had seen him staring at her out of the corner of her eye and turned bright red, wishing she could sink through the floor and never be seen again.

Just as she was about to leave, he had come up to her. "You're Rose, right?"

More embarrassed than ever, she had nodded, wishing he would go away. His next words, however, surprised her.

"How would you like to see a movie on Friday?"

Rose had given him a startled look. "Really?"

He had given her a smile that made her heart melt. "Yes, really."

Her embarrassment had vanished in a flash. "Sure. I-I'd like that. Thank you, Cal."

By May, they had been going steady. He had taken her to his junior prom—a privilege few freshmen enjoyed—and Rose had thought, in spite of her increasing awareness of his flaws, that she was the luckiest girl in the world.

Rose was pulled from her thoughts as her bedroom door flew open and Marla walked in. She sat down heavily on Rose's bed, the springs squealing in protest.

"Did you tell him yet?" Marla asked, adjusting her skirt.

Rose shook her head. "I haven't had a chance."

Marla rolled her eyes. "Rose, come on! Tonight's your engagement party! You can't have an engagement party when you don't want to get married!"

"It's not that I don't want to get married. I just want to put the wedding off for a few years."

"Well, you'd better tell Cal, because he thinks you're getting married in June."

"I know, I know. The right time hasn't come up yet."

"At the rate you're going, the right time will never come up. I know you talked to him on the phone that one time, but…maybe he'll react better in person. Otherwise, what do you plan to do—just not show up at the altar?"

"I'm going to talk to him, Marla," Rose said, turning back to the mirror and reaching for a can of hairspray. "I'll talk to him tonight. I just need to find a way to let him down easy. I know he wants to get married in June, but…since he doesn't want us to live apart while I go to college, we'll have to put the wedding off."

"Or cancel it altogether." When Rose looked at her, Marla elaborated, "You don't seem very excited about marrying him. Most of the girls who are engaged look at their rings with goofy grins and can't stop talking about wedding plans. You act like you want to forget the whole thing."

Rose turned her back on Marla, scowling. Did everyone know how unhappy she was?

"You know, there's really no use in talking about wedding plans when the wedding is several years off."

"But you haven't told Cal yet."

"I'm working on it, okay?"

"What are you working on?"

Both girls looked up as Cal walked in, a velvet box in his hands. He set it on Rose's vanity table, then looked dismissively at Marla. "I'd like to talk to Rose for a moment."

Marla didn't move.

"Alone."

Marla rolled her eyes, getting up and leaving the room. As she walked out the door, she mouthed to Rose, "Tell him."

Cal stared after her in annoyance. "She looks like a whale."

"Maybe you should say that louder, in case she didn't hear you." Marla was a hundred pounds overweight and wearing a too-tight blue satin dress, but Rose didn't think there was any need to say something so rude. Taking a deep breath, Rose pasted a pleasant smile on her face and turned to her fiancé. "Cal, there's something—"

"Wait, Sweetpea. I have something for you."

"Cal—"

"I hope you'll wear it tonight." Cal opened the velvet box, revealing a necklace with a large blue diamond cut in the shape of a heart. It was surrounded by small diamonds, and the chain was also studded with diamonds. "This is a Hockley family heirloom, passed down since the French Revolution, when a young noblewoman escaped across the English Channel with the diamond in her possession and married an Englishman named Hockley. Since then, it's been passed down to the eldest son to give to his bride. It's called Le Coeur de la Mer, the—"

"The Heart of the Ocean." Rose looked at the necklace. "It—it's overwhelming."

"Well, it was made for royalty…and we are royalty, Rose." He took the necklace from the box and fastened it around her neck. "Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Rose looked at him. He had a pleased smile on his face, his eyes shining with obvious pride at the gift he had just given her. She needed to tell him that she wanted to postpone the wedding—but she couldn't do it. Not right now.

"Nothing. Nothing important."

"Get your coat, then. We wouldn't want to be late for our own engagement party."

Rose nodded, getting to her feet. She looked in the mirror one more time, touching the diamond.

It felt like it was strangling her.

* * *

Rose and Cal were the last to arrive at their party. It was held in the ballroom of the Hockley home, an enormous space that easily held the forty guests that had been invited. Five hundred invitations to the wedding itself had gone out, but the engagement party was smaller, with only closer friends and family members of the engaged couple present.

Ruth beamed with pride when Nathan Hockley presented Cal and his bride-to-be. She had worried so much over the family's finances and social standing after her husband had died, but Rose's marriage would solve their problems.

Rose looked at the assembled guests, a smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes. Marla looked at her with a disgusted expression, then turned away, mouthing "Candyass" at Rose as she did so.

After the engaged couple was presented, a live band started playing—not the rock and roll music that both Rose and Cal liked, but the big band music preferred by Cal's father and stepmother.

Cal shook his head at the music, but turned to Rose anyway. "Would you like to dance?"

"Sure." As Rose whirled around the room with Cal, she looked at the people around them. Cal's father and stepmother were both watching them, keeping their distance from each other. Ruth was talking to several of her acquaintances, while Lucy and Julie were trying to get the attention of several of Cal's friends, pretending to be older than they were and fooling no one. Marla had pulled a young man Rose knew vaguely onto the dance floor and was dancing circles around him, displaying a talent that surprised most people who didn't know her.

Rose craned her neck, wondering if Jack was there. They had spoken only a few times since the night he had talked her out of jumping off the bridge. Rose had wanted to talk to him, but hadn't known what to say, so their few conversations had been stilted and ill at ease.

She finally caught sight of him on the edge of the dance floor. He appeared to be charming a couple of Rose's friends, but his frequent glances in her direction showed where his real interest lay.

After several songs, Rose told Cal she needed some fresh air and stepped out onto the balcony, looking out over the lights of Philadelphia. The night was chilly, so few other people were about.

She looked up in surprise when Nathan Hockley stepped outside, closing the French doors behind him. She didn't know him well, except by reputation—he was known for his ruthless efficiency in business, making him admired by men of his own class and hated by those he employed, and for his almost equal ruthlessness in his private relationships—if a person failed to meet his exacting standards, he cut them out of his life if he could, or made their lives miserable if he couldn't. Cal had often been on the receiving end of his father's disapproval, and as a result he both sought the man's approval and defied him at every turn.

Rose stiffened as Nathan approached her, wondering what he wanted. He had largely ignored her the few times she had met him, except for the time she had spoken out against the draft at one of his dinner parties—and then she hadn't been sure if he was angry or amused.

Nathan looked at the diamond ring on Rose's left hand and the heirloom necklace around her throat. After a moment, he spoke.

"My son seems quite taken with you."

Rose didn't know quite what to say. After a moment, she replied, "Well…ah…I am his fiancée."

"Yes, that you are. But Rose—may I call you Rose?"

"Of course."

"Are you sure about this marriage?"

Rose stared at him, her eyes wide. Was her unhappiness that obvious to everyone?

Nathan misunderstood the meaning of her expression. "It's nothing against you, of course. You seem to be a well-bred young woman, odd opinions notwithstanding. My son, however…he's a bright young man with a good future, but at this point…I don't know that he's ready for marriage. He's not terribly mature, and I don't think he's ready for the commitment and responsibilities of marriage."

Rose had, more than once, thought the same thing herself, but she was surprised that Cal's father shared her opinion. She knew that Cal loved partying, drinking, and staying out until the wee hours of the morning—things that weren't terribly compatible with a settled married life, especially if they had children. He seldom thought before he spoke, resulting in more than one quarrel between them, and his desire to buckle down and work was minimal at best.

Rose didn't say any of these things to her future father-in-law, however. She didn't know how he would react if she agreed with him—whether he would use her words against his son, or against her. Instead, she told him, "He's good to me…very good to me."

Nathan shook his head. "Young love," he commented, "often causes more pain than it's worth."

With that, he turned on his heel and went inside. After a moment, Rose followed him, thinking about what he had said.

It was true that Cal's maturity level wasn't great, but she didn't think that Nathan Hockley was really one to give advice. The man was on his third marriage, and from the way he and his wife avoided each other, it seemed to be on the way out.

Nathan was five years older than Tom Bukater, and unlike the younger man, had never gone to war. He had used his connections in business and politics to stay out of World War II, and it was entirely possible that he wouldn't have been trusted if he had joined the military—he had done a great deal of business with Germany prior to the war, taking advantage of the rapidly militarizing country's need for steel.

Whatever the real reason for his sitting out the war, Nathan had not been idle—Hockley Steel had grown by leaps and bounds during the war, and in 1943 he had married his second wife.

At thirty-three, Nathan had already been a widower—his first wife had died of cancer only two years after they were married, and there had been no children. Wanting an heir, he had married a wealthy young heiress, and Cal had been born in 1944.

The marriage had ended badly in 1952, when Cal's mother had left her husband for an Argentinean ambassador, taking her son with her. Using his considerable power, Nathan had taken his son back and had wasted no time in poisoning the eight-year-old boy's mind against his mother. He had never considered that his own actions might have had anything to do with his wife leaving him. He had quickly divorced her, making sure that she received minimal alimony, and within a year had married again. His third wife had soon gained a reputation for making a public fool of herself—she drank too much, and often got into trouble because of it. That the marriage had lasted eleven years was a surprise to many members of high society.

Rose knew little of this, except what Cal had told her, but she still didn't think that a man who had been married three times was in any position to give advice on whether his son was ready to marry or not. She agreed with him that Cal was immature, but she had her own reasons for marrying him, reasons she had no intention of sharing with her ruthless, powerful soon-to-be father-in-law.

Cal found her soon after she came back inside. A large buffet had been set up in the dining room, laden with finely prepared delicacies as well as more substantial fare. Cal looked at her in exasperation when she refused the caviar he offered her—she liked it only slightly more than she liked her mother's escargot, and had no intention of eating it if she could avoid it. She did accept his offer of champagne, though—the fact that she was only seventeen meant nothing to her. If she was old enough to get married, she decided, she was old enough to drink champagne at her engagement party.

After dinner, Rose wandered amongst the guests, a second glass of champagne in her hand. She avoided Marla, who she knew would pull her aside and lecture her about her failure to tell Cal she wanted to put off the wedding. She also avoided her mother and her future in-laws—she didn't know how long she could keep up the façade of a happy bride-to-be. Her mother's insistence on the marriage, combined with Nathan Hockley's comments on his son, made that façade ever harder to keep up.

Before long, Cal joined her, escorting her around the room as though he were showing her off. Rose's face was beginning to ache from the effort to smile by the time they encountered Jack.

Cal gulped down his champagne and gripped her arm tighter when Jack approached them. Rose tried to pull away from him, but he had no intention of letting her go.

"Congratulations," he told them, observing Rose's fake smile and Cal's tight grip on her arm. "I think."

"I—uh—thank you, Jack," Rose stammered, not sure what else to say.

Cal looked at his perceived rival. He smirked unpleasantly, the meaning of his look obvious. _She's mine, and there's nothing you can do about it._

"Yes, congratulations are in order," he told Jack. "After all, less than three months from now, Rose and I will be married."

Rose looked down at the floor. She had no intention of marrying Cal in three months—three years, maybe, but not three months. But if she didn't find a good time to tell him what she wanted, she would be taking her vows in three months—whether she liked it or not.

She had to talk to Cal, convince him to put off the wedding. The right moment never seemed to come, though, and time was running out.


	21. Society Girl 15

**Chapter Twenty**

_June 16, 1964_

Rose sat at her desk in English class, glancing at the clock every few seconds and tapping her pencil anxiously against her notebook. School was almost out—and graduation was this evening.

In spite of her trepidation over the direction her life was taking, this was a moment that she was anticipating—the end of high school and the beginning of adulthood. In a few minutes, she would be finished with her last class, and in a few hours, she would be finished with high school for good.

Rose glanced at Marla, who was chewing on her eraser and watching the clock as anxiously as her best friend, then looked up at the teacher, who was ostensibly recording grades in her grade book, but kept glancing at her watch almost as anxiously as the students. For a moment, Rose wondered who was more excited about the end of the school year—the teachers or the students.

The bell finally rang. Rose leaped from her seat, grabbing her belongings and waiting impatiently while Marla tossed the pencil in the direction of the trash can, then hurried to pick it up off the floor.

"Marla, come on! Let's get out of here!"

Rose's voice was louder than she intended. The teacher looked at her, trying to look stern but failing. "Go on, you two. I'll see you at graduation."

Rose grabbed Marla's hand and pulled her along. "Bye, Miss Clark!"

When they reached the parking lot, Rose tossed her notebook into the space behind the driver's seat of her car and boosted herself over the convertible's door, showing off. Marla, who had learned that an extra hundred pounds made leaping over the door awkward, to say the least, went around to her side and climbed in sedately.

"We're free!" Rose enthused, starting the engine. "We're finally free!"

"Except that you're getting married in eleven days because you're too chicken to cancel your wedding."

Rose's grin abruptly turned into a scowl. "I'm not chicken. I'm—"

"Then why are you still having fittings for your wedding dress and fighting with your mother about the fact that your sisters' bridesmaid dresses are lavender? Why are you still planning for a wedding at all?"

"Because I'm getting married." Rose pulled into the line of cars slowly inching out of the school parking lot. "It's what I want to do."

"Bullshit." Marla smirked as Rose gave her an outraged look. "If you're so eager to get married, then why do you keep 'forgetting' to wear your engagement ring?"

"What? I'm not forgetting my engagement ring!"

"You kept forgetting to put it back on after gym class, and you kept taking it off during typing class."

"We didn't have much time to shower and change back after gym, and it kept spinning around my finger and getting in the way when I was typing."

"You always had time to put your locket back on after gym."

"I didn't want to lose it—shut up!"

"So you wanted to lose your engagement ring?"

"No, I did not want to lose my engagement ring!" Rose was so vehement that Marla wisely stopped asking.

In truth, Rose would have been happy to forget about her engagement, ring and all, but she couldn't. Not when she still hadn't found a good time to tell Cal that she wanted to postpone the wedding. Not when her mother nagged her constantly about the family's dwindling finances and reminded her that her sisters' futures were at stake. Not when her sisters eagerly tried on their bridesmaid dresses and sighed over her wedding dress.

"Speaking of my wedding, why haven't you RSVP'd for it?"

"I'm not coming."

"Why?"

"I'm going to be in Ohio, learning to register people to vote."

"You can't vote."

"Not yet, but I can still help people register. When I'm done with the training session, I'm going to Mississippi."

"Mississippi? Why are you going there?"

"To register people to vote, of course. It's being called Freedom Summer, and it's about helping black people in Mississippi gain their lawful right to vote."

Rose glanced at her friend enviously. Marla was doing things with her life, fulfilling the dreams she had talked about. Rose wasn't, so her response was sharper than it should have been.

"Why do you care?"

"Because I'm going to be a lawyer, so I'm going to help people. That's what lawyers do; at least, that's what the good ones do. I might as well start now." Rose rolled her eyes slightly at Marla's idealism. Seeing her friend's expression, Marla went on, "I don't know why you're surprised. I've been talking about civil rights since we were in Washington, D.C. last August. Or are you so worried about your wedding that you don't remember?"

The previous summer, Rose had accompanied Marla and her parents to Washington, D.C. for a week at the end of August. The Brunners had had business there, but hadn't wanted to leave their teenage daughter to her own devices. When Marla had begged for permission to invite Rose, her parents had consented, and Rose, eager to get away from her mother and fiancé for a while, had happily joined them.

On August twenty-eighth, the third day of their trip, the Brunners had allowed Marla and Rose to go exploring on their own, so the girls had gone to the Washington Monument, having heard that a march for freedom was taking place there and wanting to see what was going on. They had walked with the crowd to the Lincoln Memorial, carrying signs that a group of activists had given them. Both had been excited at all the activity around them—and at the prospect of being part of something great.

They had listened to the songs and the speeches, but the speech that had inspired the girls—especially Marla—the most was one given by a black minister named Martin Luther King. They had talked about it for days afterward, though Marla had refrained from telling her parents that they had actually been at the march. They didn't object to their daughter's interest in the civil rights movement, but they would have been upset at knowing that the girls had gone to a potentially unruly demonstration by themselves. That nothing dangerous had happened would have been secondary to the fact that they had gone at all.

Rose hadn't said a word to her mother or Cal, but she had told Jack, who, to her delight, had made a drawing of the crowd based on a newspaper photo and added Rose and Marla. The photo hadn't included them—they had been in another part of the crowd, near the Reflecting Pool—but she liked the drawing and had gotten him to copy it so Marla could have one, too.

Marla had been talking about civil rights ever since, and her decision to study law at Columbia University had been partly influenced by her experience that day in 1963. Rose, too, had been inspired, creating several paintings of the event, but she had been too concerned with the troubles in her own life to pay close attention to the troubles of strangers.

In February, Marla had told her about the plans for Freedom Summer that she had read about, but Rose, distressed over her mother's and Cal's reaction to her acceptance at UC Berkeley and trying to avoid mentioning anything related to her suicide attempt, had ignored her. Her thoughts had been turned inward, trying to find a way out of her impending marriage so that she could follow her own dreams.

As such, Rose was taken by surprise by Marla's announcement that she was going to participate in Freedom Summer. As she pulled up in front of the gate of Marla's home, she looked at her best friend resentfully, more angry that Marla was following her dreams and trying to accomplish something than that she wasn't coming to the wedding.

"It's a pipe dream," she told Marla.

Since they hadn't spoken in several minutes, Marla was taken aback. "What is?"

"All this stuff about registering people to vote and becoming a lawyer to right the world's wrongs—it's a pipe dream. Nothing is ever going to change, and you won't get anywhere as a lawyer."

"It's not a pipe dream, Rose. Some things have already changed—and what do you mean I won't get anywhere as a lawyer?"

"You're a girl. You can't be a lawyer."

"Oh, really?" Marla turned to Rose, her eyes narrowed. "Would you like to tell my mother that? She's a lawyer."

"She wouldn't have gotten anywhere without your dad."

Marla took a deep breath, trying to control her temper. "She's good at what she does, and she could make it without him just fine. She's married to him because she wants to be—which is more than I can say for what you'll be soon. In fact, you're a fine one to talk about dreams, Rose DeWitt-Bukater. You talk plenty about what you'd like to do, what you'd like the world to be like—but when you have the chance to actually do something, you turn into a candyass and take the easy way out."

"Candyass? Is that a legal term?" Rose's voice grew louder with each word. "You're just jealous because I'm getting married and you don't even have a boyfriend!"

"Jealous! Jealous! I've dated half the guys in our school!"

"Because you have a reputation for putting out!"

Marla stared at her shock, her mouth hanging open. "At least I know how to have a good time!" she snapped. "Unlike you!"

"I know what goes on between a man and a woman!"

Marla's eyes widened. "Is that why you decided to go ahead with the wedding? Is there going to be an 'early' baby a few months from now?"

"No!" Rose clenched her teeth angrily. "I am getting married for my own reasons, reasons which you could never hope to understand! Unlike you, I know something about how the world really works!"

Marla opened the door and slid out of the car. "Maybe you do, Rose. Maybe you have the wisdom of the ages at your fingertips. But I can tell you right now that I'm a hell of lot happier than you could ever hope to be—no matter what your reasons for getting married are! I'm going to be changing the world, while you're going to be nothing but a little housewife! And this summer, I'm going to help people gain their freedom—not watch you throw yours away!"

With that, she slammed the door and headed for her gate, yanking it open and going inside.

"Marla!" Rose shouted after her. "Marla!"

Marla ignored her, walking up to her front door and disappearing inside. Rose stared after her for a moment before putting her foot on the gas. The tires screeched on the pavement as she headed for home.


	22. Society Girl 16

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Rose pulled into her parking space in the carport, turning off the engine and resting her head on the steering wheel for a moment before she yanked off the scarf she wore to keep her hair from whipping around as she drove.

Her earlier excitement over the end of high school had vanished. Marla had succeeded in reminding her, though Rose had tried valiantly to forget, that her freedom would last only a few days before she was stuck in a marriage she didn't want. And now Rose had managed to alienate her best friend.

For a moment, she wanted to cry. Her graduation day should have been joyful, something to be excited about and remembered happily for a lifetime. Instead, she could concentrate only on her upcoming wedding.

Cal would be at her graduation, of course, and would undoubtedly want to take her out later after the small family party her mother had planned. Rose had been invited to several graduation parties and wanted to go to at least one, but she knew that Cal considered high school parties to be below him now that he was a college student.

He hadn't even taken her to her senior prom, though she had pleaded with him. She had missed her junior prom the year before, but that hadn't bothered her nearly as much as missing her senior prom had. The senior prom was the last big event of high school—besides graduation, of course—and Rose had desperately wanted to go. When Cal had refused to take her, or even return home that weekend, she had spent the evening of her prom sitting in the oak tree in the backyard, smoking the better part of a pack of cigarettes and making her way through a bottle of cheap wine that she had convinced the clerk in a rundown liquor store to sell to her.

When she had tried to climb out of the tree, she had fallen, landing hard and spraining her ankle. When she had half-staggered, half-limped her way into the house, she had stumbled against a cabinet decorated with small figurines, knocking several of them down, smashing a few, and waking her mother.

Ruth had taken her to the emergency room to have her ankle X-rayed, lecturing her the whole way about getting drunk and demanding to know where she'd gotten the wine, since she kept the wine cabinet locked and hid the key from her teenage children to prevent such a situation.

Rose's only response had been to throw up, then fall asleep. When they had reached the emergency room, Ruth had gotten someone to help her get Rose inside, since her half-conscious daughter had been incapable of walking across the parking lot.

After her ankle had been X-rayed and proven to be only sprained, Rose had been issued a set of crutches and sent home, slightly more sober after an hour in the waiting room. Ruth had helped her into the house, made her take a shower, and tucked her into bed, where Rose had awakened the next morning, suffering from a horrible hangover and with only vague memories of the night before.

Her mother had been less than sympathetic, filling her in on what she couldn't remember and demanding that she get dressed and go to church with them regardless of how she felt. The twins had been fascinated, wanting to know what it felt like to be drunk, and had continued asking until their mother had told them to leave Rose alone.

Ruth had also confiscated Rose's car keys, telling her that she was grounded, and for the next three weeks had driven her eldest daughter to school with the twins, only rescinding the grounding when Cal had come home for the summer.

For her part, Rose had vowed never to get drunk again, but had thought it unfair that she had only been given her privileges back when her fiancé had come home and wanted to take her out. The whole incident had served to emphasize to her how powerless she was and how much her life was controlled by others.

* * *

When Rose went into the house, she was surprised to hear voices coming from the library. The twins were spending the afternoon with friends, and she could hear Mrs. Di Rossi vacuuming another part of the house. Who could her mother be talking to?

As she approached the library, she smiled in spite of herself. The second voice belonged to her grandmother, who Rose loved but seldom saw. Sarah Wolper-DeWitt had accepted the invitation to Rose's wedding, but her granddaughter hadn't expected her to come to her graduation.

She wondered why her grandmother had come. According to Ruth, the older woman's health was frail, preventing her from traveling from Boston to Philadelphia very often. This claim had always confused Rose and her siblings, since the woman had always seemed to be in good health on the occasions that they had visited Boston, and they often received letters and postcards from exotic locations around the world. Their mother had told them that their grandmother was traveling for her health, though Tom Jr. had once told Rose that that was an excuse—especially since the latest postcards at that time had been sent shortly before the woman had set off on an African safari.

She walked towards the library door, which was partly open, but stopped short when she heard her mother's irritated voice.

"Oh, stop it, Mother. You'll give yourself a nosebleed."

Pressing herself against the wall, Rose listened more closely.

"Now, Ruth, I'm only looking out for the best interests of you and the girls. I don't understand why you stay in this place when you could move to Boston and be near your family."

"My family is here, Mother. And Rose is getting married in a few days. I can't very well leave her alone here."

"She won't be alone. She'll be with her husband. Think of all the opportunities Lucy and Julie would have in Boston—they could attend the same school you graduated from, meet the cream of Boston society, be in the midst of so much history and culture…"

"Philadelphia has plenty of history and culture, Mother. This is, after all, where the Constitution was created."

Sarah sighed. "I've never understood, Ruth, why you have to pick out the most irrelevant details and try to change the subject."

"I'm not trying to change the subject!"

Sarah went on as if Ruth hadn't spoken. "I would just feel better if you and the twins were in Boston. There's so much unrest going on, all these marches and even riots—it could spread to Philadelphia."

"It could spread to Boston, too."

"In Boston you'd be with family and friends."

"I have plenty of friends here in Philadelphia."

"But no family except your children. I understood your living here while Tom was alive—he grew up here, after all, and his businesses were here—but after he passed away, I don't know why you continued to stay here. He has no close family left but you and the children, and there's really no reason for you to stay."

"Mother, I'm happy here. My life is here. I have no intention of leaving." Ruth's voice was strained.

A horrible thought occurred to Rose—would this be her in twenty years? Would she be struggling to be civil to her mother while trying to maintain her independence? What if something happened to Cal? Would her mother try to pull her back in, try to control the lives of herself and her children?

Rose was beginning to understand why she seldom saw her grandmother, in spite of the fact that the woman adored her grandchildren. Sarah Wolper-DeWitt and Ruth DeWitt-Bukater didn't seem to get along very well.

"Can you even afford to stay here, Ruth?"

"What?"

"I couldn't help but notice that Tom's car collection is gone, as is some of that fine artwork you collected. You've only got one servant left—and Milton has told me that most of your husband's shares in his companies have been sold. Your finances—"

"My finances are fine, Mother! I never liked Tom's car collection, and the art really didn't match the rest of the décor. And we really only need one servant, with only the girls and me here."

"If you and the girls moved to Boston, I could provide you with everything you could need or want. I've told you that before, but perhaps you've forgotten. If you move to Boston, you'll never have to worry about Tom's money running out—the DeWitts always take care of their own."

Rose's mouth dropped open in shock. Her grandmother had offered to provide for them? There was another solution besides her marrying Cal?

Anger coursed through her. Her mother had pushed her into marrying a man she didn't love, into giving up her future, so that she herself wouldn't have to leave Philadelphia.

Rose was about to barge through the library door when common sense prevailed. She couldn't let them know that she had been eavesdropping—both would be furious.

Tiptoeing back to the front door, she opened it quietly, then closed it with a thud. "I'm home!" she shouted.

The library door opened. Sarah and Ruth hurried through it, relief at the interruption written on Ruth's face. "How was school, Rose?"

"I'm done. I'm graduating. That's the best part of the day." She turned to Sarah. "Hi, Grandma! I didn't expect you here today." She stepped forward, giving her grandmother a hug.

"Well, you sent me an invitation, Rose. Why wouldn't I come?"

"Mom said you weren't feeling well."

Sarah raised an eyebrow at her daughter. Ruth returned her look stonily.

"I'm fine, Rose. Your mother always did worry too much. I'll be staying until the wedding—Sophia has set up a guest room for me."

Rose glanced at her mother, imagining Ruth's reaction to having her there for almost two weeks.

"I'd love to stay and talk, Rose, but your mother and I have some last minute shopping to do for your party tonight. When we get back, we can chat, or perhaps tomorrow, if there isn't time today."

"Yes," Ruth added, "perhaps the three of us can sit down and have tea, or maybe go to lunch tomorrow." She gave Rose a significant look, which her daughter understood immediately. _Don't tell your grandmother about our problems._

After the two women had left, Rose sat down, thinking about what she had heard. Her family's survival didn't really depend upon her marriage. If they moved to Boston, there would be no question that there would be enough money, not just for the essentials, but for all the luxuries they were accustomed to, as well. Ruth wouldn't like the idea of giving up her home in Philadelphia and her independence with it, but Rose didn't like the idea of marrying Cal and giving up her future.

Still, her mother's voice nagged at her conscience. _Everything is set for the wedding, Rose. Isn't it wonderful? You look so beautiful in that dress. Everyone is so excited. Only eleven days to go, Rose. It'll be the happiest day of your life. You'll see._

_I don't want to marry Cal_, she thought. _I don't want to marry anyone. I want to go to Berkeley and get my degree in art and have a career—at what, I'm not sure, but something._

_But the wedding is so close. Can I really back out now? Would it be fair to Cal if I did?_

Rose's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Leaping to her feet, she hurried to answer it, half-afraid that it was Cal. How would she face him with what she had found out?

It wasn't Cal who was waiting outside, though, but Jack. He had a flat, wrapped package in his hand.

"Jack!"

"Hi. Can I come in?"

Rose let him in, looking at him curiously. She'd invited him to her graduation, of course, though her mother hadn't liked the idea. He in turn had invited her to his, two days from now. She hadn't expected to see him until that evening, though.

"I…uh…I brought you something." Looking around, he asked, "Where's your mom?"

"Grandma came down from Boston today. They just left to go shopping."

Jack nodded. "When will they be back?"

"Not for a while, probably. Why?"

"I didn't want to give you this in front of your mom. I don't think she'd like it."

"What is it?"

He handed her the package. "Open it and find out."

Rose did as he said, tearing the package open. She squealed with delight when she saw what it was.

"The Beatles! I love them! They're fab!"

Jack grinned, chuckling at her reaction. "I thought you'd like it. And I bet your mom wouldn't."

"No, she wouldn't," Rose agreed. "She thinks they'll be the downfall of society or something." She flipped the album cover over, looking at the list of songs. "Let's go listen to it!" She turned and darted up the stairs, Jack following.

Rose opened the album cover, carefully removing the record and setting it on the player. When she dropped the arm on the record, the song _I Want to Hold Your Hand_ began to play. Rose grinned in delight—she had loved this song since she had heard it on _The Ed Sullivan Show_ in February.

Her earlier musings forgotten for the moment, she kicked up her heels, dancing to the song and singing along.

"_Oh yeah, I'll tell you something I think you'll understand. When I say that something, I want to hold your hand!"_

Kicking off her shoes, she jumped up on her bed, dancing across it while Jack watched her and laughed. A moment later, to his surprise, she grabbed his hand, pulling him up with her. They bounced across it, singing along with the record and laughing.

When the song ended, Rose finished her dance with a flourish, jumping as high as she could and flopping down on her bed. Jack flopped down beside her, both of them breathless from laughter.

The sound of footsteps thundered up the stairs and, a moment later, Lucy and Julie popped into Rose's room, attracted by the music and the sound of laughter.

They stared at them for a moment, Julie grinning slyly and saying, in a sing-song voice, "Jack and Rose sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G—"

"Shut up," Rose told her mildly, getting up and turning off the record.

"I bet Cal wouldn't like it if he saw you—"

"We were jumping on the bed," Rose told her, "and the song ended."

"It sounded like the Beatles," Lucy interrupted her twin's teasing.

"It is," Rose told her. "Jack gave me a record as a graduation present."

"I want to hear it!" Julie hurried over to the record player and started the song over. "They're fab! I wish I could meet them!"

"You're just boy-crazy," Lucy told her.

"You want to meet them, too!"

"That's different. I like their music best."

"So do I!"

Rose looked at them and gave an aggravated sigh that sounded remarkably like their mother, though Rose would never admit it. Her sisters stopped bickering and sat down on her bed, enjoying the music.

After they had listened to the first side of the record, Rose shooed her sisters out. She had to get ready for graduation. Her good mood had faded again when Julie had started teasing her.

"Rose…" Jack began, stopping in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"Uh…I was just wondering why I wasn't invited to your wedding. I mean, you don't have to invite me or anything, but…"

"Of course I invited you. Didn't you get the invitation?"

"No. Mrs. Di Rossi got one, but I didn't. Was I included with her?"

"I sent you your own. As many of them as we ordered, and as much trouble as we went to, I decided to send them individually."

"I never got it."

"Maybe the post office lost it, or…" Rose trailed off, remembering her mother going through the invitations to check the addresses. "…or Mom took it out."

"She's not very fond of me." Jack paused, looking at her. "Rose…are you sure about this? About getting married?"

"I…" Rose looked down. "No. I'm not sure at all."

"Then why…"

"I have to."

Jack's eyes immediately went to her midsection. "You're…ah…"

"No." Rose looked at herself in the mirror. She didn't think she looked pregnant. She hadn't put on any weight, and her stomach was as flat as ever.

"It doesn't show," he told her.

"I'm not pregnant!" Rose wailed. "Why do people keep asking me that?"

"Well, when you say you have to…"

"It's not like that." Rose stopped, trying to decide whether to tell him the truth. "Remember how Mom made you leave because she said she couldn't afford to take care of you?"

Jack nodded.

"Well, she could have, if she hadn't insisted upon our life of luxury, but that's beside the point. Dad left enough for us to live on, especially if Mom got a job, but she ran through it in a hurry and refused to look for work because she couldn't earn enough to keep us in the lifestyle we're accustomed to. When Cal first proposed to me, I said no. When Mom found out, she told me that marrying him was the only way to keep this family solvent and keep my sisters from starving to death. She managed to convince me, so I told Cal I'd changed my mind. That was why I agreed to marry him—not because I loved him, but because he has money. And then today I found out that it isn't even necessary. Grandma would be more than happy to support us if we move to Boston—but Mom doesn't want to go."

"So…you're getting married and giving up college and all your dreams because your mother doesn't want to move." Jack cut straight to the heart of the matter.

"Pretty much."

"So cancel the wedding. Tell Cal you changed your mind. It'll be a lot easier to end it now than after the wedding."

"I don't know, Jack. All the plans have been made…"

"Plans can be changed."

"I know, but…"

"But what?"

"I just don't know."

"Rose, come on. You don't have to get married if you don't want to. I can talk to him if you don't want to," he offered.

Rose shook her head. Letting someone else tell Cal that she didn't want to get married was the coward's way out. "It's not up to you to save me, Jack."

He looked at her seriously. "I know. Only you can do that."

"I…I need to get over to the school. I'll see you later," Rose told him, turning away so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.

She listened as he walked away, then went to her closet to retrieve her cap and gown.

She had a lot to think about.


End file.
